When He Fell
by Bookreader525
Summary: Six months after the big concert, Johnny and Ash quickly come to terms about their romantic feelings for each other. But just because they're a couple now does not mean it won't come without lots of complications. They soon find themselves put to the ultimate test, one that their relationship might not survive. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**I am officially in love with this movie. And I'm in love with Johnny/Ash (Jash?) as a ship. Soooo I decided to try writing this little story.**

 **PLEASE keep in mind that this will have mature content not suitable for younger readers. There won't be any graphic smut, but there will be lots of swearing and mentioned/implied sex. I'm only saying this because this is a younger fandom, and I don't want to upset or offend anyone. I won't be putting an M rating on this, because for most of the chapters, the worst thing will be swearing.**

 **Now, with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this! I had some trouble writing out this first chapter, but I'm thinking after this I'll be on a roll. After I post this, I'm actually going to watch the movie again and I'm sure that'll help give me some more inspiration.**

 **Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think! Feedback is much appreciated. Now, on with the show...**

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Ash hates parties.

She maneuvers her way through a cluster of idiots— drunk, or high, or both, she'll never know— and dodges a waterfall of bile currently exiting someone's mouth at warp speed.

The funny thing is, this party was supposed to be for her. Her nineteenth birthday party. Within twenty minutes, the guest of honor was forgotten. She's faded into the background, another blurry brown spot in the watercolor painting every drunkard's vision becomes after a few bottles too many.

The porcupine finds a secluded corner in the room, though not before narrowly avoiding getting trampled by a pair of wild hippos.

Being out of the crowd, she now has time to focus on the concoction in her furry hand. The "jungle juice," as Mike had dubbed it, looks like it had been collected straight from a polluted river and was mixed with a few shots of vodka. Deep down, Ash knows how stupid it would be for her to trust anything made by Mike. The mouse and her aren't exactly friends— when he'd handed her the drink some twenty minutes ago, his exact words were "Here, have some of my jungle juice, Ashley dear! And smile for once, you look like you got hit by a truck." She didn't even have the willpower to tell him her name was _not_ Ashley (that would've been the five hundredth time she corrected him).

For some stupid reason, she'd accepted the red solo cup. And for some even stupider reason, she is now drinking it.

The alcohol is like acid, burning her throat and leaving behind an uncomfortable sizzle. She forces down a few more mouthfuls, head already beginning to swim as she glances around.

She doesn't know half of the party animals here. A few she recognizes from her high school days, but most appear to be idiots Mike had dragged in from the street. He and Meena had been the only two from their "theater family"— Buster's name, not hers— who were able to attend the party.

Rosita's husband is on another business trip, and as usual it was impossible for her to find a babysitter willing to watch twenty-five unruly piglets. Gunter had planned an extravagant date night with his boyfriend Tomas. Buster and Eddie (along with Ms. Crawly) are currently on a tour around the state to spread the word about the theater, but sent their best wishes. And Johnny…

Well, according to Mike he didn't have a reason to not go. And damn, that pisses Ash off. Johnny never has an excuse for why he disappears during practice. She can only hope it's a genuine reason, and not just him being a flake.

Ash takes another long, slow sip of the jungle juice. Her tongue is used to the bitterly strong taste by now, and it's vaguely enjoyable. She spots Mike weaving his way through a forest of stomping feet and hooves, stumbling and drunk off his ass. Ash is almost positive it only takes a few droplets of alcohol to get him tipsy.

The last time Ash saw Meena, the poor elephant looked terrified. She's never been much of a partier, though then again neither has Ash. It takes a second or two, but finally the porcupine sees her friend chatting animatedly with an antelope wearing oversized glasses. Reassured that the youngest in the group is having a pleasant enough time, Ash decides not to walk over.

She continues scanning lazily over the wild crowd, sucking her cup dry of any remaining booze. More than once, a guy "accidentally" falls on top of her, and she must resist the urge to prick him in the eye with one of her quills. Ash is praying this is the worst act of douchebaggery she'll see tonight, but alas, she is disappointed.

Right in front of her, just a few feet away, is Lance. "What the _hell_ is he doing here?" Ash hisses to herself. She tries to duck behind somebody, but it's too late. Those green eyes have already found her.

Her asshole ex— someone she thought she'd never see again. She'd really been hoping there would be no need to file a restraining order. Maybe after tonight, however, that will change.

"Ash!" Lance yells, waving his arms like an imbecile. Her quills puff up, and anger heats her face like flames.

Reluctantly, she steps out from her shitty cover, goes straight up to Lance, and socks him in the face. "Fuck you, Lance," she says with as much venom in her voice as she can muster. It's not hard to find the venom, luckily; seeing his face is good enough to get her riled up.

"God!" He cups his hands over his nose, which is beginning to bleed. "Dammit, Ash." His eyes snag hers, and she feels herself falter somewhat. His gaze is a bit glazed over from drunkenness, and she's sure hers isn't much different. Already her knees feel like Jell-O, and suddenly all she wants is to lay down and rest her spinning head.

"Beat it," she growls, turning away.

"No," he says.

She spins back around and nearly falls on her face. " _Excuse me_?"

"You heard me." Lance steadies himself, still cupping his nose with one hand and holding his other out to her. "Ash, I ended it with Becky."

Now her tongue is flopping like a fish out of water. "S- so what? That was six m- months ago! You could've dated a hundred other girls since then."

He hangs his head. "I haven't. I've been trying to find you since December—"

"I don't _care_ —"

"— and I saw you on the TV that night, the big concert? You were singing that song, about letting it go or something…"

She holds her head and groans. Her limbs feel heavy, like they're weighed down with lead. " _Set It All Free_ , dumbass. _Let It Go_ is Elsa's hit. Have you not heard my stupid song on the radio?"

It's true. Ever since the concert in early December, all of the local radio stations are playing the theater group's songs almost nonstop. Ash's has been a favorite because "it's an original," as Buster put it. She appreciated the attention at first, but it got old. Fast. Day after day she'd walk into a shop or get in her car or just stop breathing for a second, and there was her voice in the background. Again and again and again. Lyrics that meant so much to her became meaningless entertainment to fill what would otherwise be dead air. Sure, the success of the song gave her money. But she's still living in that shabby apartment. Sure, the success brought hordes of boys in her direction. But none of them ever stick. They're all like sand, slipping through her fingers and leaving behind little residue. Nothing special— just hookup after hookup. Ash knows it's no way to live, but that's how she's been living.

But finally, with the start of June, budding summer hits have begun to replace her song on the radio. She's forgotten by the media for now, and she doesn't mind at all.

"Gimme a break, I'm drunk!" Lance protests. "But y'know what I mean. Come _onnn_ , babe. Give me another chance?"

Of course, she's about to decline. But then a particular song starts leaking out of the nearby speakers, and she's shoved into a memory she's tried so hard to forget.

 _She's barely seventeen, and of all places to be moping in, she's moping in a club._

 _With a shiny new fake ID, it had been easy to fool the dimwit buffalo bouncer at the door. People had always told her she looked older than her age, despite her size._

 _She marched in there fully ready to order a heaping glass of whiskey or something else super strong. But now she's slouched on the counter with a lukewarm cup of Coke in her hand. Her eyes focus absently on the beads of condensation as they slide down the frosted glass, past the bar's logo, and down her arm. There's only a few sips of soda left, and by now all of the bubbles have gone flat. She shoves the drink away with a contemptuous sigh. Disgusting._

 _She'd been hoping to score a gig here, but the owner was difficult to track down. For a couple hours now, she's watched one performer after another cycle through the stage. At the moment, an attentive audience is watching a gecko in a sombrero waving around a pair of maracas and singing in an awful fake Mexican accent. What kind of shit is this? Ash rolls her eyes, and a snort puffs out of her nose. All those other club owners who'd criticized her music should hear this lizard's crap. Though, with her luck, they would love him and the dumbass would score a record deal in an instant._

 _Ash had moved halfway across the country to Calatonia hoping to find success. But success just won't befriend her._

 _The gecko, blessedly, slides off the stage. An employee announces the next performer. And then the next performer is on the stage._

 _And she's mesmerized._

 _She doesn't see as many porcupines here as she did in her hometown, but this guy isn't just a porcupine, he's a handsome one too._

 _Still in a trance, Ash hops down from her stool and makes her way over to the tables where most of the audience is seated. She pushes past group after group until she's right at the front, guitar case in hand and eyes trained on the new performer._

 _"Alright, so," he leans into the microphone. A sleek blue guitar hangs off his body by a single strap, and her mouth waters at the sight of it. It's the same one she's seen in the window of that music store she always walks by but never goes into. Something way beyond her price range._

 _"I would like to dedicate this song," he continues. Then he pauses, and begins scanning over the crowd, as if he's looking for someone in particular. Ash perks up a little more, chewing on her lip. At last, he catches her gaze, and she takes a moment to notice how wonderfully green his eyes are. He leans down slightly, pointing a finger right at her. "To this girl right here." He offers her a seductive smirk, then asks, "What's your name?"_

 _Her heart is a fly caught in his spider web. She clears her throat, coughs. "Um… Ashlynn?" She says her name like a question, and inside she curses herself for acting like a bumbling weirdo._

 _And he gives her his first piece of "Lance advice"— "Just shorten it to Ash, baby. Sounds cooler that way."_

 _She nods, words caught in her throat. And then he sings. His voice is loud, and his music louder. And it's all dedicated to her._

"Holy shit." She jumps forward and grabs his arm. She feels him jerk a little out of surprise, but he doesn't move away. "This is your song!"

Lance shrugs. "So?"

"How did they get your song? The one from, like, two years ago? How—"

"That wasn't my original song, babe. Duh," he tells her.

She falls back, feeling stupid. _How much more stupid can this night get?_ She touches her hands to her forehead again, and finds the fur there hot and unpleasantly sticky. She can feel the pounding of her skull there. God damn it, Mike must've poisoned her.

"Lance, I—" She swallows softly, and takes his hands in hers. He looks just as out of it as she feels; maybe the jungle juice had been passed around to everyone? "… I just don't—"

He kisses her. It's messy, and their foreheads collide with a cringe worthy _crack_. His eyes are closed. Hers are open. Then, ever so slowly, her eyelids flutter shut.

Lance doesn't say a word. Her hand is still in his, and she's helpless to whatever he's got planned. Or doesn't have planned.

She barely registers the motion of him leading her up the stairs in this foreign apartment, banging on door after door until one gives with a reluctant creak from the hinges. It opens, revealing a— bathroom.

But it works for him, so it works for her. They're just getting back into their old routine, except this isn't the couch in her apartment or the backseat of his car. She moans softly as he presses her against the wall, leaving trails of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone. The tight blue party dress she'd grudgingly put on hours before suddenly is itching to be shed. His hands help hers yank down the zipper, all the while avoiding the quills on her back just like how he avoids his own.

The bathmat next to the shower is soft, and they opt for that as a surface rather than the ridiculously narrow shower stall. Something flickers in her conscience— this is some giraffe's apartment, a friend of Mike's. Huh. Makes sense.

Ash doesn't get a lot for her nineteenth birthday. Just a shitty party, a frothy cup of jungle juice, and a quickie with her ex on the bathmat in a stranger's apartment.

Oh, well. Good enough.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny hates traffic.

He swears, he _knows_ , the luck gods are not on his side today. He's slouched in the driver's seat of his truck, drumming his fingers on the worn leather edge of the steering wheel.

Usually, to entertain himself, he would sing or hum a quiet tune, but he's currently suffering his way through a cold. So, instead, he's sucking on an awful-tasting cherry lozenge and silently praying the jam up ahead will be cleared up soon.

He's been planning to attend this thing for months. Hell, he skipped out on a birthday party for this. And, by god, he hopes that it'll help cure him.

After a few more centuries inch by, the glaring red brake lights on the car ahead of him disappear, and the line of traffic starts moving. Johnny taps the gas pedal impatiently, sniffing. Who the hell catches a cold in _June_? And in one of the warmest places in the country where it practically never snows? Just his luck.

Ten minutes later, he shows up fifteen minutes late. Everyone glances up as he staggers in, tossing a crumpled up tissue into a trash can.

"'Ello. Sorry I'm late," he mutters to the several pairs of wide eyes. He chooses an empty chair and slouches in it, drumming his fingers on his lap like it's the dashboard in his truck.

One by one, the group leader goes around the circle. People introduce themselves for the sake of their new member, and pointless icebreaker games are played. Johnny christens himself "Johnny Jell-O." It's fairly accurate, considering every fiber in his body feels like it's made of nervous, shaky Jell-O.

When it comes time for his turn to tell his story, he does so seriously and calmly despite the nerves screaming up and down his spine.

"Johnny Jell-O," he repeats as per protocol, lifting one hand in a stiff wave. "And I am addicted to a girl."

Once again, he's met with wide, judgmental eyes.

"Ah— uh, lemme rephrase that," he stammers. "I'm, eh… I'm addicted to somethin' that'll never 'appen." He tugs at a few strands of black fur on his knuckles. "It just doesn't make any sense. This girl an' I aren't compatible at all."

The group leader, a stout orange cat with glasses, sits forward in his seat. "Why do you say that, Johnny?"

"She— I—"

"How about you describe her for us?" the cat suggests.

Johnny hides his face in his large hands, and lets a large sigh whistle through his teeth. "'Aight. She's… short. Amazing voice. She hates anything that has too much glitter on it. She's real pretty, too, bloody hell… blue eyes, an' her smile is more like a smirk, like this triumphant lil' 'I told ya so' grin. An' she can be prickly at times but—"

"Prickly?" One of the other group members snorts out a laugh. "Is she a porcupine or something?"

The gorilla nods, dead serious. "Yeah! Ya got it! She's—"

"Look, man." The orange cat shifts even closer, sliding his glasses up his snout. "I know there's lots of cross-species couples around now, but… a gorilla and a porcupine?" He leans back, chuckling. "Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous than that?"

A goat is cackling. "I'd sooner expect a cat and a dog to fall in love!"

The group dissolves into laughter, and Johnny is sitting there muttering to himself in order to drown out their painful guffaws. Every snort, each giggle, is like another prick from a needle.

Johnny stands up abruptly, his chair screeching against the linoleum. "She's a porcupine, an' today is her birthday, an'"— he hesitates, raking a sharp gaze over everyone— "an' I should be at her party right now."

And he leaves, sans goodbye. He knows he shouldn't even waste his breath— so he doesn't. Instead he pops another lozenge into his mouth, climbs into his rumbling truck, and speeds over to the address Mike had given him two weeks ago.

It should be _him_ throwing this party for Ash, not Mike. Mike's parties seem fun at first, but eventually they turn into a nightmare for anyone with even the tiniest pint of introvert blood. And Johnny hates himself for subjecting Ash to this. And Meena. Neither of them deserve killer hangovers the morning after one of those unnatural disasters also known as Mike's parties.

Johnny parks and races up the stairs, almost breaking down the front door of Apartment 24 in his haste. It's a big place, unfortunately, with a second floor. He combs through the living room-turned-dance floor, for once grateful for his lofty height.

His worry mounts to a previously unseen level as he begins to make his way up the stairs. He encounters Meena at the top, sitting and giggling with a young antelope about their age. Johnny crouches down so he's eye-level with the elephant.

"Meena, hey, Meen—" It takes a second to grab her dazed gaze, but he manages to. "Have you seen Ash anywhere?"

Her shoulders lift up then down carelessly. Meena's drunk. She's never usually drunk. There's tipsy Meena (just about the cutest thing ever) but Johnny has never met drunk Meena. He has a feeling he's not gonna like this persona of hers.

"Beats me," Meena sighs, her pretty voice almost drowning in the sound of a plate or glass shattering downstairs. "Last I saw her, she was running off with some other porcupine. What's it to you?"

"Ah, shove off," Johnny mumbles, frustrated. He knows the girl he's talking to isn't his best friend of six months. The real Meena is shy, and sweet, and caring. Drunk Meena is just another stranger.

He needs to find his other best friend. He stands up and shoves past the antelope, starting his short trek down the hallway. The cream carpet under his sneakers is soft and mutes his footsteps. The music is loud enough anyway, however. He drives his fists into one door after another, but even the sound of bone slamming old wood doesn't startle anyone inside the rooms.

He comes upon the final room in the dimly-lit hall. The door is open a crack, the occupants careless enough to leave it unlocked at the risk of being discovered.

Johnny knows he shouldn't open it. But he opens it.

"Oh my god!" he shrieks, standing frozen like a statue, as if he's just looked into the eyes of Medusa.

He would _rather_ look into Medusa's eyes than see the horror show currently in front of him.

"What the hell, man?" The male porcupine sits up, snatching up a towel from the rack to cover himself and his partner. "Get your own room, this one's taken."

Johnny's delayed reaction is to leap backward, and he hits the door of the linen closet across the hall hard. The knob digs into his back, somehow sharp as a knife.

Ash clutches at the towel she's sharing with _him_. Lance. The asshole of an ex she's spent hours complaining about to Johnny and Meena during outings to the mall or during concert rehearsals.

"Ash…" Johnny's voice is raspy as ever, and he scrabbles at the pocket of his jacket for another hard candy, but all he finds are empty wrappers.

"Johnny, I—" She stops. He can see how drunk she is too. Maybe even worse than Meena. She's fumbling over words, unable to find something suitable with a brain saturated in toxic liquor.

She finds something. "I'm sorry…"

There's honestly no reason she should have to apologize. Johnny knows that. It's not like they're dating, it's not like she's cheated on him. But it _feels_ that way.

So the gorilla spins around, sprinting down the hallway, past Meena and her antelope buddy, out the door and all the way back to his truck. He hates Ash's drunk persona too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Big thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! I am so overjoyed that you guys like it this much already, and please feel free to keep giving me feedback on what I should improve on or continue doing. I always love hearing from you all :D**

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Ash opens her eyes, but her vision is useless. A blurry film has settled over her eyes, as if she's looking through a pair of grimy old glasses.

The next feeling that hits her is the throbbing pain in her head. It's like someone swung a bag of bricks onto her forehead, or slammed two hammers against her temples.

She would groan, but then it would wake the slumbering porcupine next to her. The noise she'd rather make is a disgusted whimper or horrified scream, but her throat is too dry to produce a noise anyway.

Various swear words, laced with regret and irritation, bounce around her mind as she pulls herself to her feet. She and Lance were both sharing a ratty towel and the equally ratty bathmat, but now she is eager to distance herself from him. She snatches up the blue dress and leather jacket from last night and yanks them back on, gritting her teeth when the fabric snags on her quills in her haste.

Next she twists on the squeaky faucet and opens her mouth under the refreshing stream of water, ignoring the distinct metallic taste in the tap. Once her parched tongue is satisfied, her voice is finally back. And the first thing out of her mouth—

"… fuck." She spares another glance back over to Lance, still conked out on the floor. She takes a few seconds, then she can't look at him anymore.

Ash tiptoes out of the bathroom and down the hallway, thankful for the cushiony, sound-absorbing carpet. To her immense shock and relief, Meena is passed out at the top of the stairs.

Heart soaring, Ash leans down slightly and shakes her friend awake. "Meena! C'mon, Meen, wake up," she whispers desperately.

Meena stirs, then squeaks as her eyes fly open. She lifts one of her large feet and props her forehead on it. "Ash…?" Her blue gaze focuses on the porcupine, and it takes mere seconds for her face to widen out of terror. "Oh god, Ash, w- what happened last night?"

"You're asking _me_ ," Ash scoffs. "Dude, we need to leave. Like, right now."

Luckily Meena doesn't waste time scrambling to a shaky standing position. She smooths out her wrinkled dress and lets out a dry sob. "My mom is gonna kill me…! And my granddad, oh god…"

"Can we please just get out of here?" Ash clings onto one of Meena's toes— since holding her entire hand would be out of the question— and drags her friend the rest of the way downstairs.

The two of them had walked to the party together last night, and now Ash wishes they hadn't. Actually, there's several things about last night she wishes she could change. Perhaps first on her agenda would be to _not go to the freaking party_ in the first place. Next would be _don't sleep with Lance, you idiot_.

The sun has never seemed so bright before. Ash digs through her bag and pulls out an old pair of sunglasses. Gratefully she throws the shades on, starting to regain her composure a bit as she adopts a calm strut down the sidewalk.

Meena is still fretting, but at least she has her large ears to protect her from the glaring sunlight. She's rubbing her exposed shoulders, whimpering about how dead she is, how her curfew was supposed to be at eleven p.m. Normally Ash is fine with Meena's nervous rants, but at the moment the tiniest of sounds creates another marble of pain to roll around her skull.

"Meena… please," Ash says. "Could you just… pipe down for a sec?"

"Y- yeah. Sorry."

The girls walk on in silence, cringing at every beep of a car horn or whine of a shop door being opened. They reach the train station in record time considering their dazed state. Ash feels like she's stepped into a time machine dated six months ago. The early morning bustle of people, grumbling into their cellphones about how much they despise Monday mornings. The rustle of discarded newspapers and food wrappers on the platform floor, blowing by like tumbleweeds in a desert. So many times Ash stood in this very spot with Lance, who had a car for most of their relationship yet still insisted on taking the trains for reasons still unknown to the heavens above. Needless to say, Meena is a far more preferable companion to have than _him_.

The young elephant doesn't speak again until they've boarded the train and collapsed into a couple of hard plastic seats. They're bound for the Downtown area, nearby where Meena's neighborhood is.

"Really, though, Ash… what _did_ happen last night?"

Ash massages her temples, nudging the shades further up her nose and sighing. "We drank too much, I guess. Last night is Exhibit A of why minors shouldn't have booze."

Meena leans back against the window and groans for the fiftieth time this morning. "I'm _never_ having alcohol again."

Behind the glasses, Ash's eyes roll in amusement. "Well, I can't say the same, but… I'll definitely never accept 'jungle juice' from Mike again."

"Agreed."

Silence. Then "Ash, was that Lance I saw you with or am I crazy?"

A stone of dread drops into the porcupine's belly. "Uh, no. You must be crazy—"

"'Cause I could've sworn that's the same guy in the ripped-up photo you showed me—"

" _Meen_. You were drunk. I was drunk. It's done and over with now," Ash says.

The train begins to slow down, its brakes screeching against the metal tracks. Ash squints through her shades and recognizes the blurred features of the Downtown station through the windows.

"Then who did you sleep with last night?" Meena pries.

The stone in Ash's empty belly expands. She gulps. Meena has always been curious, but she's never dived _this_ far into someone else's beeswax. "I didn't—"

"Ash." Meena places a heavy hand on her friend's shoulder, causing the smaller animal to wince at the sudden weight. "Don't lie to me. You came from the upstairs hallway to wake me up, right? Anyone who was upstairs last night definitely— well, y'know what I mean—"

"Fine! God. It was just some guy, I think his name was Chad or something," Ash growls.

The tiniest of snorts escapes through Meena's trunk. " _Chad_? You went to bed with a guy named _Chad_?"

"Oh, shut up," Ash says, giving her a light shove as the train comes to a complete stop. The doors slide open, signaling Meena's departure.

"Well, this is my cue," Meena says with a frown. She stands, smoothing her dress again, and chuckles nervously. "Wish me luck, girlfriend. And happy nineteenth! I'll bring in a cake to our next rehearsal."

Ash fiddles with the dusty shades. "Good luck, Meen. And that'd be _amazing_. You know what I like, chocolate with—"

"… with strawberry frosting," Meena finishes for her. "Don't worry, I won't forget your weird taste."

"It's not weird, it's _delicious_!" Ash calls after her friend as she exits the train.

Once Meena and all the Downtown passengers clear out, the train lurches forward again and Ash settles back, knowing the route to the next stop is longer. She leans on the glass window, and considers popping in some earbuds. Then a fresh wave of pain slices through her skull, and she wisely decides not to listen to rock music at the moment.

When the train finally reaches her station, Ash is nearly trampled by dozens of other passengers struggling to get out the narrow sliding doors. Annoyed, Ash puffs out her quills slightly and grins as others shy away from her. They clear a decent path for her through the throng of briefcases and business suits.

There's no rehearsal today, since the finishing touches are still being put on the new Moon Theater. Buster promised them that as soon as he, Eddie and Ms. Crawly return from out of town, rehearsals for the next show will begin immediately. A crooked smile perches on Ash's face at the thought of returning to her old routine. Rosita and Gunter practicing elaborate dance moves, Mike crooning into a microphone to his girlfriend, Meena's beautiful voice leaking through the "soundproof" glass of her practice room, Johnny tapping away at the keys of Ms. Crawly's old piano, which had been restored since the flood.

As soon the image of Johnny flashes through Ash's aching mind, a jolt of panic startles her entire body.

"Shit," she mutters. Bits and pieces of last night are returning to her, like chunks from the film reel of a horror movie.

Johnny walked in on her and Lance.

Johnny saw them. Johnny saw her— with— oh god. Oh no.

And then her heart is pounding just like her head, and she breaks into a clumsy run down the street. She'd almost always taken the train to work, but it wasn't that far of a walk from her apartment either. So instead of turning left out of the station, she goes right and hopes to the gods that's where he'll be.

Animals leap out of the way for the stressed porcupine breezing past. Ash doesn't know whether or not her quills are inadvertently flying out, but she honestly doesn't care if they are. If it means it'll get her there faster, then so be it.

She's breathless and feeling sick as ever when she arrives in front of 551 Echo Drive. It's hard to believe how far the theater has come from being a mess of an empty lot, to a makeshift stage, to being restored to its grand magnificence. Any trace of rubble from the disaster has been cleared out, along with puddles of water still left from all those burst squid tanks. Buster asked that the builders hired by Nana Noodleman try to use as many pieces of the old theater as possible. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of anything salvageable, though the construction workers did manage to uncover some red velvet seats not busted under chunks of cement. The seats were professionally cleaned and put together as part of a "VIP" section in the front row of the new theater.

Buster trusted all his employees— none of whom would leave him despite multiple record deal offers— so he gave everyone a key into the place. Ash glanced up at the empty water tanks high above as she entered the sleek new lobby. Buster plans to put squids in those tanks, though she isn't quite sure how he'd managed to convince those guys to come back after being washed down a storm drain. On second thought, maybe he's recruited completely new squids.

Ash stops thinking to herself and rushes into the auditorium. A thrill courses through her blood as her eyes lift to the beautiful and intricate ceiling. Her feet, still in the stupid flats from last night, tread silently along the red carpeted aisle between seats.

Everything is silent in the cavernous room, but Ash hears a faint noise coming from backstage. She walks lightly up the stairs to the stage, then makes a U-turn to go past all of the stagehand equipment to the rehearsal rooms.

Sure enough, Johnny is sitting in his room. She sees him through the clear panes of glass, hunched over a piano and mumbling out the lyrics to an unintelligible song. She's never seen him so… dejected. Her heart jumps into her throat as she knocks gently on the door.

The muffled trill slows to a halt, as his fingers freeze over the piano keys. He doesn't make a move to open the door, so Ash tries using words.

"Johnny? It's me… Ash…" She feels like she's leaving him a message on his answering machine. The brazen part of her wants to demand for him to open the damn door already, to look her in the eyes, to just turn around at all. But she knows how it feels to be in an unpleasant mood. It's the kind of feeling where you just want the entire world to leave you alone for a while. Jeez, not even singing on stage could fix Ash when she was heartbroken. But why is Johnny so upset about last night? Did seeing her half naked really get to him that much?

And then he replies. "I'm busy 'ight now."

She stares at his back through the glass, desperately willing for him to show his face. "Aw, come on. Don't you wanna… talk or something?" She presses her hands hard against the pane and wonders if it would break if she pushed hard enough.

He gives her a very Mike-esque reply. "Go take a hike, Spikes." Hearing him say that name is like shoving a dull blade into her vocal cords. Words fail her. In the place of a mournful apology, anger rises.

"Fine, then. Screw you too, Bigfoot," she says, raising her voice to ensure the insult makes it through the glass. Then she spins around and storms out of the theater.

 **oo0oo**

Just as Buster told them, rehearsals begin a week later. Johnny is up bright and early and is the first one to show up at the theater.

He still lives in his father's crummy garage, mostly due to the guilt he would have if he were to sell it while his dad is still in prison. He has enough guilt weighing him down as it is, knowing it's all his fault his dad is in jail in the first place. He's forgiven Johnny since then, but Johnny hasn't forgiven himself.

The garage is a lonely place when Johnny's on his own. It used to be filled with uproarious laughter while the gang played poker and gambled. Other days there would be tense silence, silence that spoke volumes, as they planned their next raid on the shipments coming into port. Now those days are long gone.

Johnny has considered inviting the theater family over for dinner or something one day, but he doesn't even know how to begin cleaning the place. The excuse "oh, just spring cleaning," is expired at this point in late June. It's a mess and an embarrassment and not something he'd want any of them to see.

Especially not _her_.

So needless to say, Johnny is much too relieved to be at the theater at seven thirty a.m. Buster is somehow there before him, but that's always been a given. The group has joked amongst themselves that the koala sleeps upstairs in his office every night, but sometimes Johnny genuinely wonders if the rumor is true.

While waiting for everyone else, Johnny warms up his vocal cords by singing a quick run through of Train's "Hey, Soul Sister" from the front row of seats below. As always, Buster surprises him by hopping down from the stage and landing with his furry arms spread wide.

"Johnny boy! Sounding great as always," the koala greets him. Johnny jumps up, a sheepish grin already spreading on his face.

"T- thank you, Mr. Moon."

"Please, I've told you so many times to just call me Buster." Buster adjusts his bowtie as he and his much taller companion jog up onto the stage. "Alright, sooo…" He drags out the word, rummaging through a stack of belongings until he finds his beloved clipboard and so-called "lucky pencil."

Johnny stands at attention, hands in the pockets of his jeans while his boss thinks out loud.

"Grand reopening in two weeks… we'll need a decent show to advertise by then… pair Meena with… and Johnny…"

The young gorilla straightens even more, leaning forward slightly as he hears his name. "Mr. Moon—"

"Johnny," the koala says. He circles around the bigger animal, clicking his tongue. "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny… let's see here…" He stops right in front of him, craning his neck to lock eyes. "Eddie and I have been discussing things, and we believe our next show needs to be entirely duet acts. You gotta admit, Rosita and Gunter's duet was a real big hit, great way to start off the last show…" Buster wanders off into mumbles again as he consults his clipboard.

Johnny tries again. "Mr. Moon—"

"Aha! I have it. We'll put Rosita and Gunter together again, they had great chemistry. And Meena with Mike— elephant and mouse together on stage! It'll be perfect."

Johnny stiffens as he realizes exactly who he's left to be paired with. "W- wait, Mr. Moon, Meena an' Mike don't get along too well— 'aybe you can put me wit' her instead…"

Buster's cheerful voice steamrolls right over Johnny's words. "So that leaves you and Ash. Perfect!" His pencil scratches over the clipboard, scribbling down notes in handwriting messier than any doctor's.

"Ash and I sing completely different types of music—"

"So you can teach each other, then. You've played a little acoustic guitar, right?" At Johnny's nod, Buster grins. "So you already know the basics, she'll just show you the rest. And you can teach her piano. It'll definitely be… ah… unique, but I think your voices and instruments could work really well together."

Johnny droops. "But she doesn't—"

"Ah, ah, ah. Just trust me on this one, okay, Johnny boy?" Buster's wide beam temporarily shifts into a serious frown. "When have I ever let you down?" Pause. "Actually, no, don't answer that."

Right then Rosita hustles in, her yellow bag swinging from her shoulder. "Phew! What a morning," she breathes, nearly tripping on her way up to the stage. "No minivan will ever be big enough to contain all those piglets…" Johnny and Buster nod knowingly, despite having zero clue what exactly it's like to be a busy mother.

Eddie slouches in next, followed by Gunter (in a purple glittery leotard this time), then Mike, then Meena. Ash is last, looking harried as she balances a steaming cup of coffee with a thick pile of music sheets and her guitar case. Johnny averts his eyes from her as he feels a melancholy flutter in the bottom of his stomach.

Buster begins explaining his "wonderful" idea for the next concert, working title "Dynamic Duets." When he announces Rosita and Gunter as a pair, the pigs grin happily, as he gleefully links his arm with hers and leads her back to the biggest rehearsal space to practice dance moves. Meena and Mike are announced next, and both look equally disgusted and horrified. Shockingly, however, they accept their assignment without much protest and head over to the backstage.

Johnny and Ash are the only two left, and the feathery wings tickle his stomach again. Buster officially puts them together, and the porcupine gives a grunt as she takes a long sip of her mocha. Johnny is once again like a statue as he watches her begin to head backstage. A fatherly pat on the arm from Buster— which would likely be a pat on the shoulder without height restrictions— wakes Johnny from his trance.

"You got this, champ," Buster grins.

Johnny shakes him off. "What? It's just Ash."

The older man rolls his eyes. "Johnny, you've really been doing a horrible job at hiding it."

The gorilla's heart thrums against his ribcage. "Hiding _what_?"

"Your crush on her," Buster replies in a singsong voice.

Johnny is surprised with how quickly he jumps to his own defense. "Yeah, well, who _wouldn't_ have a crush on her? She's hilarious, she's quirky, she's intelligent, and she's— she's…"

"You can say it."

"Say _what_?"

"'Hot,'" Buster says, smirking. "You think she's hot. Don't be so afraid to let your feelings out. Remember, you've performed in front of hundreds of people. That's an impossible feat to accomplish for most. But _you_ did it. Ash is just one tiny person who is also your friend. I know you have it in you to ask her out."

Johnny wrings his hands, trying to get rid of the sweat on his palms. "Yeah, an' risk gettin' a quill in my eye." He tilts his head, studying the shorter animal carefully. "An' apparently I 'ave competition too…"

Buster lifts his eyebrows. "Oh, no no no. I do not have a crush on a barely legal girl." He shakes his head swiftly, fluffy ears flapping. "I thought you knew?"

"Knew?"

Buster chuckles. "Johnny, I'm gay." He lifts his hand in a wave over to Eddie, who is fiddling with controls on the other side of the stage. "I've been dating Eddie for, like, three months now."

"Oh." Johnny stumbles back, looking from the sheep, who is oblivious to their conversation, then back to Buster. "I- I didn't realize… wow. I'm sorry. But congrats. You two must be really great together."

Buster offers him a lopsided grin, clearly not offended at all. Then again, it's very difficult to offend this guy. "Yeah. We are, aren't we?" He lifts his voice into a yell so Eddie can hear.

The tech guy nudges off his headphones, squinting at them in confusion. "What'd you say?" he yells back.

"We're great together!" Buster says. He forms a heart shape with his hands. "As a couple! Right?"

Eddie flattens his ears, and Johnny swears he can see a faint blush on his face. "Um, y- yeah, right," Eddie says before burying himself back in his work.

"Well, there ya have it," Buster says. "Now, I want you to go back there and just try to work with her. If you two really aren't getting along, I can always switch you, but only as a last resort."

Johnny watches him stride away, over to bother Eddie about something. Then the gorilla heaves a sigh, faces the rehearsal rooms, and heads backstage to find Ash.

It's a shame, he thinks, that Buster misunderstood Johnny's comment. He hadn't seen Buster as competition for Ash.

He meant Lance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for the love! You're too kind :'D**

* * *

"Well, you sure took your sweet time getting here." The sharp-tongued comment is out of Ash's mouth before her brain even has the time the process it. She glances up from her guitar and shoots her new partner an equally sharp glare.

"Sorry," he mutters. She's somewhat taken aback by his submissive reply, though at the same time it makes sense. That gorilla really has to make an effort to insult even the most annoying fly.

She bites back a sigh and decides to let it go for now. She settles back on her stool, watching as he takes a seat on the bench by his piano. They're in her rehearsal room, which boasts just a few more square inches of space than his. Already somebody has wheeled in his piano from the other room— it must've been Ms. Crawly, yet Ash finds that hard to believe.

"Soooo…" She messes with the worn guitar pick in her hands. There's only silence from him, which she takes as a sign of the mild-mannered hostility that could only come from Johnny. Ash narrows her eyes, and pipes up again, this time with a more defiant tone attached to her words. "So are we gonna get started or not? Meena's brought in a cake but she won't let me have any until lunch, so… the sooner we get this morning over with, the better."

He spins away from her to face his piano, but not fast enough for her to miss a sassy eye roll. Ash curls one of her small hands into a fist, enclosing the guitar pick within. _Okay. Two can play at this game._

She hops down from the stool and marches over to his corner of the room, quills on end as she strains to reach up and tap his shoulder.

He grunts.

"Are you gonna teach me to play that thing or not, big guy? Time's a-wastin'." She taps the invisible watch on her wrist for emphasis, even if he can't see it.

Johnny slides over on the bench and pats the empty spot. Grudgingly she climbs up next to him, eyes scanning over the wide set of keys. Some of the white is dulled and worn by time, but it's otherwise in decent enough condition.

Without warning, Johnny begins playing the first few notes of a song unknown to her. His fingers slam down and glide across the keys, producing a smooth melody. She tries to keep her eyes on every movement his hands make, but it's almost impossible to keep track of his swift and nimble actions.

Too soon, the tune is over and the room is once more filled with deafening silence. Ash opens her mouth, more snarky words forming at the bottom of her throat, but he interrupts her.

"Play that," he orders.

She blinks up at him incredulously, then to the now-unmoving keys, then back to him. _"What_?" She throws her arms up in the air. "How am I even supposed to— I don't even know where to begin! You can't expect me to be an expert after watching you play one thing up close. Seriously?"

"An' you can't expect me ta be an expert teacher after bein' forced into doin' a stupid duet wit' you," he shoots back. He gestures fiercely at the messy stack of music sheets resting over the keys. "Don't you know what music notes are?"

She scoffs. "Yeah—"

"An' you know how ta turn the notes on paper into actual music. So do it," he says.

Angry heat burns her cheeks. She sets down the guitar pick, poises her hands over the keys, then tentatively presses down on a few.

A grating noise results from this, high-pitched, like claws on a chalkboard. In a flash Johnny snatches her fingers away from the piano and groans loudly. He stands up from the bench, and it scoots back abruptly, causing her to almost lose her balance and fall off. She continues scowling at his back as he paces to and fro across the room.

"This is bloody stupid, I'll tell you what. I'ma talk to Mr. Moon right now, tell 'im how bloody stupid this is, how 'is expectations are too high—"

Ash cuts him off by hitting another set of keys on the opposite end of the piano. This time the sound that reverberates in the room is low-pitched and deep. Ash likes the sound of it, and before Johnny can stop her she's playing faster. She plays clumsily, making a big show of lifting her arms high then slamming down on the keys just like he did. For some reason, he actually lets her go on for a couple minutes, until he places a hand on her shoulder and yells, "Aight! Aight, that's enough."

Ash freezes, a sly smirk appearing on her face as she glances up at him. He averts his gaze from hers, pretending like his shoes are the most interesting things in the world. "So, how did I do, Teach?"

"It was a bit… loud… but that's nothin' a lil' fine-tunin' can't fix." Johnny sits back down next to her, the bench protesting under his weight.

"Okay," Ash says. She cracks her knuckles and rests her fingers lightly on the keys again, not hard enough to make any noise. "Fine tune me."

He shifts next to her, and places his much larger hands next to hers. "Aight, now… follow my lead."

The rest of the morning goes by at the speed of an energy-drink-powered cheetah. Ash falls into the world of the piano, with its chipped white keys and relaxing sound. Halfway through the lesson, Johnny starts picking up her hands and moving them to a different place on the keys when need be. The first few times it startles her, but from then on she grows to like the feeling of her tiny paws enclosed in his warm palms. It's a stupid feeling, and she knows it with all her heart. Her mood sours out of annoyance at herself. By lunchtime, she's practically gasping in relief as she slides down off the tall bench.

The rest of the group is lounging about on the stage, munching on the lunches they'd packed from home. Ash droops a little as she settles next to Meena; she'd been hoping someone would bring in Chipotle or something good for their first day back.

Buster is crunching his way through one of his infamous eucalyptus and mayo sandwiches. He once convinced Ash to try a bite, and she ended up gagging the rest of the day. "So, how is everyone coming along?" he asks enthusiastically, bouncing in his seat.

"Jeez, Moon, give us a break. We've been working for half a day, we're gonna need a little more time than that to come up with something," Mike sighs. He's nibbling on a few seeds from the plastic bag he brought.

Buster angles his ears slightly— a classic sign of concern. He looks back and forth from Meena to Mike, who are noticeably situated on opposite ends of the group. "Are you two not getting along?"

Meena is quick to speak up. "No, no, we're fine, Mr. Moon! Mike's just being his usual grumpy self, y- you know how it is." She gives their boss a wave of assurance with her large foot, and Mike gives a huff of contempt. Luckily, Buster lets it go and moves on to his next subjects.

"Gunter, Rosita? Everything working fine for you both?"

"Yas, Meester Moon!" Gunter beams and squeezes Rosita's shoulders, causing her to struggle swallowing a bite of food. "We're gonna show everyone the true meaning of _piggy power_!"

Buster chuckles, and his eyes shift over to the final pair. Ash can feel the blue heat of his gaze on her in particular, and she coughs uncomfortably.

"Johnny? Ash?"

Ash is startled by Johnny's exaggerated response. "We're doin' great, actually. Havin' a good time." He leans forward from the other side of Meena to gesture at his partner. "I've been teachin' Ash to play piano."

Buster grins, and once again his eyes are on her. "That sounds awesome! How are you liking the piano, Ash?"

"Oh! It's, um…" She pauses, holding up one hand and taking her time to swallow a bite of apple as she formulates an answer in her head. "It's fun. Not as bad as I thought it would be, I- I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you like it," the koala says. There's still an overly wide smile plastered on his face. It's creepy enough that it would make him look like a clown with a little makeup. His small eyes dart back and forth from Johnny to Ash, the latter of who tries to duck behind Meena for the rest of lunch.

Fifteen minutes later, Meena finally reveals the elephant-sized cake she baked for Ash. She brings it in from the back room and sets it down in front of her friend. "Happy belated birthday, Ash!" she whispers.

"Ooh, somebody grab a lighter! I have some old candles in a drawer upstairs, I'll be right back," Buster says, disappearing in a blue and gray blur.

Mike stands and ambles over to the cake, a tiny lighter at the ready in his hand. "I always keep one on hand for… emergencies."

Ash arches an eyebrow at him. "What, like just in case you need to burn down a building?"

"Or in case I need light if I lose power or get stranded." Mike rolls his eyes. "Think before you speak, hedgehog."

Her quills prickle. "A porcupine and a hedgehog are two _very_ different animals—"

"Oh, sorry, you're right… hedgehogs are cuter by far and more intelligent." The mouse flicks the lighter between his thumb and index digit.

Ash snorts. "Think whatever you want, rat. Doesn't mean everyone agrees with you."

Mike glowers. "Why don't you get off that high and mighty pedestal of yours—"

"Guys!" Rosita cuts in. "Come on. You two should know better by now. Just shut up and get along."

Everyone is taken aback by their usually gentle friend's scolding. Apparently her motherly sternness had to rear its head at some point.

Buster returns, and doesn't even notice the barely-dissolved tension in the room. He hums cheerfully as he sticks several candles into the cake, one after the other. Ash counts them up as he goes along, and when he's finished she blinks in surprise. "You didn't have to actually put nineteen—"

The koala shrugs. "You turned nineteen, not five. So there should be just as many candles."

Grudgingly, Mike lights the candles, circling around the cake that's bigger than he is. Everyone sings "Happy (Belated) Birthday" to Ash, their different talents intermingling to form one beautiful song. Meena and Johnny stand out the most, drawing out the ending by adding "And many moreeee…"

Then they all dig into the cake, some frowning at the birthday girl's choice of flavors. Rosita asks about gifts, but Ash insists there's no need for them. Having the theater group back together again is all she really needs. Yes, she even missed Mike.

Hours later at the end of the day, Buster calls out his typical "That's a wrap, guys!" and the diverse group begins to file out of the theater.

Ash and Johnny had spent the remainder of the day working on their own individual instruments. She was secretly relieved to return to the comforting familiarity of her guitar. It helped rid her of the awkwardness she'd been feeling earlier while sitting next to Johnny on the piano bench. That nagging thought still sits in the back of her mind, always ready to remind her what Johnny had seen the night of her birthday. He saw her with Lance— the guy she supposedly hated. The guy she _did_ hate, and still _does_ hate. Who knows how confused he must be? Or he doesn't care. Maybe he was drunk that night too, and he's forgotten. Yet Ash has a feeling her friend hasn't forgotten a single thing. If she could even call him a friend.

Damn, she sure hopes so. As she situates her guitar back in its case, bids goodnight to Buster, and ventures out into the star-speckled city, one defiant thought rings clear in her mind.

 _Lance is not worth losing Johnny over._

 **oo0oo**

Johnny doesn't touch any guitar strings until a week later, when he finally gets Ash to cave and start teaching him. She's already morphing into a half-decent piano player; so how hard could guitar be for him?

It, as it turns out, is very difficult. Ash spends the better part of the morning with her fists stuffed in her ears, and Johnny doesn't blame her. Every noise that comes out of that guitar sounds _awful_. It sounds like haunted spirits from the deepest depths of hell have risen to scream in agony. Or, at least, that's what it sounds like in Ash's words.

"I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this," Ash sighs after failed attempt number infinity. They're sitting in their rehearsal room, both seated on the floor with the open case next to them and the guitar resting in his lap. Johnny sits, dumbfounded, as she reaches forward to nab the guitar pick from his hand.

She digs through her case for a moment, sifting through some loose-leaf notebook sheets covered in smudgy handwriting. Johnny picks one up to read, but she snatches it out of his grasp before his eyes can find the first word. "Shitty old song lyrics" is her explanation, though not nearly a sufficient enough excuse to him. But he lets it go.

At last she finds what she's looking for. She takes his hand, presses another guitar pick into his palm, and curls his fingers over it. "That's my lucky pick. Treat it well, because if you break it you're dead to me."

He frowns and raises the pick up to eye level. It definitely looks old, its dark green color chipped away at the edges and the plastic eroded by frequent use. "I guess it'll have to do," Johnny concedes.

"It better," she says. "We tried your fingers and a million different types of picks. If this doesn't work, then we might as well use your toes or your tongue next."

Johnny tries playing again. He holds the guitar steady and not like a ukulele, as Ash claimed he had been earlier. Then he positions his fingers and the pick over the strings and begins making noise.

For the first time, it isn't horrible noise. Ash buries her face in her hands. "Thank god. That pick is a miracle worker."

Johnny nods seriously. "It really is. Thanks fer lettin' me use it, Ash."

They make eye contact, but he cuts it off so quickly that it's really unfair to call it progress. Johnny hates how easy it is to lose himself in those blue depths, so he doesn't let himself stare too long. He can feel her gaze lingering on him, but he ignores it.

"Johnny."

He narrows his eyes and concentrates harder. He works his way over the strings, wondering what it would sound like plugged in and blasting throughout the entire theater. Probably still not that good.

" _Johnny_."

He lets out a breath. "What?"

"Why won't you look at me for more than two seconds?"

Her question makes his stomach do a somersault. Beads of sweat spring onto his palms, but he forces himself to continue playing. He decides to play dumb. As futile as it'll be, it's still worth a try. "… what do you mean?"

He hears a tired exhale whisper past her lips. She's propping her head up with a hand, her eyes screwed shut. "C'mon, don't… don't be like that."

He bites back a different response and instead asks, "Like what?"

"Don't act like you have no idea what's going on here," Ash says. She leans down, fixing her gaze on his until he has no choice but to return her intense look. "Johnny. The party, on that night—"

"No!" He stands up suddenly, exasperation like springs on the bottom of his feet that pushes him upward. The guitar is still pressed firmly in his large hands. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it."

A defeated whimper escapes her throat. "So you do remember."

He laughs grimly. "How could I _forget_?"

Ash gets to her feet as well, but for the first time ever she appears intimidated by their height difference. He looms over her, hands raking through the thick mess of dark hair on his head.

"Listen, it was nothing— I haven't even seen, let alone spoken to him since then—"

Johnny slides the guitar off his chest and sets it on the ground. Now he's playing with the enchanted pick, which is victim to his vicious thumbnail. "Ash, you told me n' Meena you hate him! Then I see you wit' him, no clothes on a- and doing god knows what—"

"We were both drunk," she tells him quietly. "I wish you didn't walk in and have to see us like that, but…"

"You could've just locked the door!" he sputters.

" _Drunk_ ," she repeats. "We weren't thinking!"

"Well, _I_ wish you were thinkin' that night and didn't guzzle booze like it was water!" Johnny seethes. He's never felt this way before. He's been disappointed, depressed, maybe, but never… so _angry_. Angry, infuriated… hurt. He doesn't want to guilt trip her, but something deep within his conscience orders him to make her hurt like he has. He's felt like shit for the past two weeks because of a stupid crush that he can't get over. It doesn't help that he's around her for more than half of his entire day. That close of quarters— it would be too easy to slip his hand under her chin and bring her lips to his. Then he remembers how those lips have also touched that cheating jerk's, and the daydream is wiped from his mind.

She falters, and staggers backward. All of their emotions are coming out fast, an unstoppable torrent of pent-up pain and unwanted feelings. He can see her crumple like a discarded tissue. She looks so small. "I- I'm sorry you feel that way," she tells him. "But… there's no going back now." She looks like she means it. Her voice is even, unwavering, and even so he can see all of the emotion has gone to her eyes. He locks gazes with her, holding it for longer than two seconds.

"Yeah," he sighs. "What's done is done, i'nt it?"

She's deadly silent as she shoves her guitar into the case and gathers up her mess of papers, cramming them all inside before slamming it shut. She stares at him for another few thudding heartbeats, then exits the room without a word.

He watches her go, and cradles the lucky guitar pick still in his hand. Another burst of anger rushes through his bloodstream right up to the tips of fingers. He splits the pick cleanly in half and leaves it on the floor before storming out in the opposite direction.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all so much for the feedback. I'm nervous about the ending of this chapter, but I promise all will be explained later on.**

* * *

Meena leans forward over the kitchen table, eyes narrowed curiously as she tries to catch her friend's attention.

"Ash," she says. No response. She waves a large hand in the porcupine's face, to no avail. Ash looks dazed, eyes half-closed as if she's been dosed with a sedative.

Meena's frown deepens, and worry creases form in her already quite wrinkled forehead— yet another reason for her to curse elephant skin.

A bulb lights up in her mind, an idea to get Ash out of her unexplained stupor. Meena grabs a chocolate chip cookie off the plate on the table and walks over so she's next to her friend's chair. Ash is dwarfed by all the elephant-size furniture. The enormous chair she's sitting on is tall enough so that her feet are dangling a decent distance above the floor. If she wanted to reach the kitchen counter behind her, she'd have to use a stepstool or a heaping stack of cookbooks. Meena can't even imagine how difficult it would be for Mike or Nancy to navigate this place.

The young elephant pushes away her thoughts and waves the cookie in front of Ash's glassy eyes. Her face is so frozen it could be carved out of stone and Meena wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Still nothing.

Meena sighs, knowing that her next attempt will be the last one before she'll be forced to slam two frying pans together like a pair of cymbals. She leans the cookie in closer to Ash's face, holding it with two hands and breaking it in half. Crumbs fall, and the sweet heat from the freshly-baked cookie hits Ash's nose.

The porcupine startles back to life with a grunt. Without a word she snatches the cookie halves out of Meena's grasp and takes a large bite out of one.

"Ash!" Meena says through gritted teeth. "What just happened? Are you okay?"

"Um." Ash pauses mid-chew, crumbs sticking to the fur on her chin. "Not really?" She glances around, eyes suddenly wider than saucers. "You keep any beer around here, by chance?"

" _No_ ," Meena hisses. Her big ears fold in toward her face, and a blush creeps up her cheeks. "And don't say that so loud! My granddad is right in the other room—"

"Right. Sorry." Ash finishes off the cookie and licks chocolate off her fingers. She then takes another cookie from the plate and begins munching on it. "Jeez. How long was I out of it?"

Flustered, Meena props her head up on two fists and rolls her eyes. "I'm not sure. Maybe, like, two or three minutes?"

Ash's eyebrows lift temporarily, then fall back down. "Oh."

"Really, are you okay? What's going on with you?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine. Just a bit more tired than usual." Ash yawns as she reaches for her third cookie. "Guess I'll have to upgrade to an XL cup of coffee in the morning. They have those, right?"

"Only if you want a heart attack." Meena crouches down, searching Ash's eyes for any hidden answers. "And please don't lie to me, Ash. You're not fine at all." She leans over the cookie plate and picks something off of Ash's back. "You have a sock stuck in your quills." She waves the offending object at her friend, brow furrowed questioningly. "I know you, Ash. You never go out in public without making sure there's nothing stuck to you."

Ash swallows a bite of cookie slowly. She rummages through the mess in her mind until a decent enough excuse— one that isn't a lie— can be found. "Alright, fine… I- I lost my lucky pick."

Meena blinks. Ash maintains firm eye contact until she's sure her friend is convinced. "Your lucky—? Oh, your lucky guitar pick?" Meena's face falls. "I'm so sorry, Ash."

Ash rubs her nose and fakes a sniffle. "No, it's not a big deal… it was just the easiest pick for me to play with, now it won't ever be the same again, y'know?" She keeps her shoulders limp as she shrugs. "I'll just h- have to find another one."

"Hey, that gives me an idea!" Meena brightens considerably, and Ash tilts her head at her, puzzled. When the porcupine tries to pick up another cookie, Meena slides the plate away from her. "Do you want a stomachache?" she chides.

 _Won't be any worse than my heartache,_ Ash thinks idly. Out loud, however, she just groans. "Ugh. Whatever."

"But what I was gonna say is, maybe you and I could go to the music store at the mall and find a brand new pack of guitar picks for you there!" Meena's eyes roll to the ceiling thoughtfully, as she's surely already imagining the "fun" trip.

"Eh, I guess another visit to Tim's Tunes couldn't hurt," Ash says. "Maybe this Saturday?"

Meena nods eagerly. "That sounds great. Ooh, and we could invite Johnny along too if he's free—"

Ash sits up fast, and the oversized chair she's in jerks back dangerously. She clings onto the edge of the table and gulps. "Hey, uh, I actually just remembered I'm busy Saturday. And Sunday. And all of next week. Rehearsals, you know how it is…"

A frown returns to Meena's face. "Yeah, of course I know. But you just said—"

"I know; I know what I said. I'm still kinda out of it." Ash hops down from the chair, briefly wincing as her feet collide against the hard floor. "Look, Meen, I really feel like shit and I think I should just go back to my place, take some melatonin, and sleep for a few years."

"But…"

Ash slips past her befuddled friend, patting Meena's arm as she goes. "Love ya, Meen, you're the best. Adios."

Back at her cruddy apartment, Ash collapses on the couch right away. She can still taste Meena's delicious cookies on her tongue, and now wishes she'd grabbed a few for the road. To make up for that missing craving, she makes herself a nutritious plate of nachos instead then settles back on the sofa and turns on the TV.

She flips through a multitude of nondescript channels, but nothing captures her interest. She leaves it on a station cycling through various 90s rock song music videos and is suddenly bit by the inspiration bug.

Writer's block has long been an enemy of hers, but lately the heavy brick wall has been keeping any and all ideas in the shadows. What was once a gushing stream of words and phrases has become drier than the Sahara.

But out of nowhere, she thinks of something. Because her laptop is dead and in the other room, she scrambles under the coffee table and couch for something suitable to write on, already having a pencil in one hand. Her fingers close on something resembling a piece of paper, so she pulls it out and blows off the layer of dust.

It's not something she wanted to see. "Damn. Thought I got rid of all of these," she mutters. It's an old picture of her and Lance, taken by some third party at an old gig of theirs. She remembers receiving it in the mail, as that person had somehow found their address in a non-creepy way. Okay, well, it was maybe a little creepy.

Both porcupines have chill, sly grins on their faces. She has an arm hooked around his shoulders, something she had to stand on her tiptoes to fully do. Both of her hands are arranged in peace signs, while he has his right hand flipping off the camera. Their guitars are propped up to the side, and Ash stares at hers for a long moment. It was the red and white one he'd gotten for her eighteenth birthday, the one and only real considerate gift he'd ever given her. For every other holiday his gift had been sloppy, drunk sex. Even for Christmas.

Now Ash looks up from the photo and sees that same guitar sitting against a nearby wall. For the big concert in December she'd had it professionally refinished with a new black and white color scheme. She'd wanted it black because that was the only color dark enough to cover up the stupid signature Lance had scribbled on the front.

Knowing she wouldn't care if this photo got dropped in a pit of molten lava, Ash flips it over and begins writing furiously. Lyrics flow out of her pencil, and a few end up being killed by her eraser. Others make it, and the more times she reads over them, the more she likes them.

If only her partner was here to see them.

Wait. No. She doesn't want him here.

Ash's eyes stray to the frame hanging above the mutely glowing TV. It's a picture of her, Johnny and Meena from a couple months ago. It was early April, the opening day of a weekend music festival in the city. All three of them had acts in the main stage show. The paycheck for that had fed Ash up until a few weeks ago.

 _You'll start getting checks from Moon again soon,_ she reminds herself. But soon doesn't seem soon enough, especially as she's picking at the dregs of her nachos: crumbs of stale tortilla chips that long ago lost their crunch, globs of queso cheese from a jar probably older than she is, and chunks of mushy and gross mild salsa.

What kind of fucking life is this?

It makes her sick. Like, actually sick. She feels sick enough to—

 _Oh no_.

She tosses the plate to the side and runs out of the room. She barely makes it to the bathroom in time.

Ash wretches into the toilet, then quickly flushes away the evidence of her evening junk food binge. Meena's words flash in her mind again. _Do you want a stomachache?_ No, she really hadn't wanted a stomachache. But she got one anyway.

Another string of swear words stumbles off her tongue as she leans, swaying, over the sink. She feels bloated and disgusting and the wave of inspiration is gone. The brick wall called writer's block is back.

She opens the medicine cabinet and reaches for the melatonin.

 **oo0oo**

"Johnny, are you absolutely, positively sure there's no way around this?"

Johnny stares at his boss desperately, hoping that just this once telepathic communication could exist. Why can't Buster just _understand_ him? Why won't he just listen and let Johnny work alone or with someone else? For Christ's sake—

"Yes, Mr. Moon, I'm sure. She an' I just can't get along."

Buster frowns doubtfully, and Johnny swallows an impatient groan. What does it take to convince this koala?

"Did you and Ash have a… disagreement?"

Johnny's shoulders slump. "Ay… I guess you could say that."

"Like, a minor disagreement? Or a full blown fight?" Buster asks.

Johnny hides his face behind his large hands. "W- we had a fight, yeah. Sure." _Whatever it'll take to just make him give in…_

Buster exhales softly, drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk. Currently his desk is a slew of paperwork and forms, and it looks like a mini tornado passed through and hit just this corner of the room. Ms. Crawly's desk is, shockingly, spotless.

"Johnny, I'm going to tell you something and I want you to listen carefully." Buster sounds deadly serious, and Johnny's nerves spike.

"Okay…"

"Do you know how long it took for Eddie and I to admit our feelings?" Buster's fuzzy fingers are still drumming, drumming, drumming… "It took _ages_. We've known each other since middle school, Johnny! Middle school! I nearly fainted from nerves just asking him on a date. But now both of us are happy as can be. You know why that is?"

"N- no—"

Buster throws his short arms up in the air, and he does a quick spin in his chair. "Because we didn't _give up_ , Johnny. We didn't give up on admitting our feelings. People who give up all the time will never be able to succeed in life. If your feelings for Ash are distracting you so much, then you need to let them out. _Tell_ her. Don't give up so soon."

Johnny opens his mouth, only to be told—

"I'm giving you two a second chance to make things work. We're only a week and a half into this next show. There's plenty of time for worse things to happen— that is, unless you man up and tell Ash!"

"Tell me what?"

Johnny is quite sure his stomach has just sunk all the way to his feet. His heart is thumping unbelievably hard, like it's a bird wanting free from his ribcage. Ever so slowly, he turns around and finds Ash and Ms. Crawly standing in the open doorway. Both are holding coffee mugs, though the iguana's seems empty.

Buster's assistant, clueless as usual, wades right through the thick tension with ease to deposit the ceramic mug on Mr. Moon's desk. Buster barely has to lean forward to check the contents of the cup— empty, as suspected— before mumbling a less than enthusiastic "Thank you, Ms. Crawly."

The old woman nods as she hobbles over to her dinosaur computer slathered with sticky notes. "Ash here wanted to see you as soon as possible, so I invited her to come up with me. I do hope you don't mind…"

"No, no, you two actually have perfect timing." Buster has on a wicked grin that only intensifies Johnny's anxiety. The koala jumps down from his chair and moves to guide Ash into the chair next to Johnny.

The porcupine's question is still unanswered, and she looks concerned as well. And a little green. "Uh, what are you—"

"Ah, ah, ah, hush Ash. I have a feeling I know why you wanted to see me. Does it have to do with your and Johnny's duet assignment?"

She scratches behind her head, arm slipping under the spines to reach her neck. Johnny wonders how soft the fur at the nape of her neck is. "Uhm, yeah it does, kinda." She reaches for her guitar case, goes through it for a moment, then extracts a flimsy sheet of loose-leaf lined paper from the disorganization. "I started writing some lyrics for a song Johnny and I could sing. I wanted to come up here and see if you approve of it so far."

Buster takes the paper when she offers it to him. From what Johnny can see through the thin paper, there isn't much written down. But whatever is there quite obviously impresses their boss. By the time Buster hands it back to her, his eyes are enormous.

"That looks extraordinary, I love it! You'll definitely have to show Johnny." Buster's gaze flits over to the gorilla. "Whataya say, Johnny boy?"

Johnny feels like a deflated balloon. He pulls out a few of the little black hairs on his knuckles, sighs, and nods hesitantly. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan," he agrees.

Buster sends them downstairs, where the rest are already rehearsing. Ash has finished her coffee and is now gnawing on a bright pink wad of bubblegum.

She's blowing a large bubble as they enter their room. It makes a loud _pop_ , and then she goes, "Dammit."

Johnny turns around from his piano, and his jaw drops when he sees the aftermath.

Her face is covered in a thin layer of gum. She claws at it, but a lot of residue still clings to her cheeks.

Without thinking, Johnny jogs out of the room and toward the bathroom down the hall. He grabs a clean rag and wets it with warm water, then returns to the room.

"Wait-wait-wait what are you—"

He cuts her off by kneeling down and gently rubbing the cloth over her cheek. The pale brown fur there darkens as the water soaks in, loosening the bits of neon pink gum.

Johnny thinks— no, he _knows_ he's never been this close to her face before. Her eyes are dazzlingly blue like the sky on a cloudless day. She looks at him quietly, and the emotions sparkling in that gaze are impossible to decipher. Confusion? Awe? Annoyance? Or maybe all three.

He begins wiping the damp cloth over her other cheek, working gently and silently until all of the gum is gone. Even when he moves the rag away from her face, they're still centimeters apart, just gazing at each other. He worries that she can hear the hammering of his heart.

"Um, thanks," she says.

He dips his head slightly. "Y- you're welcome." His mouth keeps opening and closing like a fish's, him at a loss for what he could possibly say next.

The seconds press on, and still his mouth hangs open. He feels like such an idiot. And so, for reasons unexplainable to even the highest of deities, she leans in and seals his lips with a kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, thank ya'll so much for the feedback. I really love reading your reviews. I know you may have a lot of questions, but I promise all will be answered in due time. I cannot express enough how grateful I am to have such kind readers!**

 **Now you might think things are kind of sudden in this chapter. I am in a rush to update because I'll be going on vacation for spring break, so I hope this makes enough sense for now. Until next time, enjoy :)**

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All of Ash's instincts are screaming during the entire kiss. It'd be wrong to say she doesn't enjoy it because, hell, who wouldn't enjoy kissing Johnny? His lips are soft, gentle, but unsure. He doesn't make any move to deepen the kiss, but he doesn't try to retreat either. It's comparable to the practice kisses she used to do with her pillow, except now her pillow is alive and breathing and very much moving his mouth in rhythm with hers.

So she breaks it off. She doesn't want to, but she can only go so long before needing an oxygen break. She used to do the same thing with Lance— dammit, why is she comparing Johnny to her ex? — and the guy she dated before him, but with them she would always be quick to dive back in after a few breaths.

She and Johnny just stare at each other. She can still feel the stickiness from the stupid gum, even though it's all wiped away now. They stand frozen for several interminable moments, as if they are holding a serious staring contest. This time he's the one to break the contact, shifting his gorgeous brown gaze downward to the dripping rag clutched in his hand. He's gripping the cloth so hard, she can see the whites of his knuckles poking through the gray skin.

"Uh…" He coughs. "I should, um, probably get rid o' this." He stands. And he leaves. And she watches every step he takes.

Ash has never had this… _meaningful_ of a kiss. It's the kind of kiss that lingers on her lips. She can still feel his touch, still feel the tickle of his tongue grazing her lower lip. Okay, forget the pillow, and forget Lance. This is wildly different, and she's helplessly intrigued by it. By _him_.

Johnny is slow in his return to the rehearsal room. By now she's moved over to her corner, adjusting the volume on her guitar. She narrows her eyes into slits, and they remained glued on him as he shuffles over to the piano bench.

For a while they don't speak. It's not awkward, per se, but not exactly comfortable either. She strums her strings, cursing whenever her fingers slip. Where the _hell_ did that cursed pick go? The lyrics she wrote the other night— and then copied onto a sheet of paper because, hell no to that old picture— are propped up on her guitar case. She reads off of them, making edits to the meager amount of lines as needed, and sings them inside her head. She's not ready to say them aloud quite yet, not with him in the room.

During this weird period of time, he's tapping thoughtfully on the keys. Whenever she sneaks a glance at him, she can see the inquisitive tilt of his head. She can picture his frown and intent focus on the keys. She'd rather see his face than the back of his head, but not all wishes are granted.

Another one of her wishes does come to life, however, roughly a half hour later. It arrives in the form of Johnny rising to his feet, walking over to her corner, and squatting down at her side.

"Watchu got there?" he asks.

Her brain tells her to snatch the lyrics out of his view, but her arm doesn't move. "Oh, just… you know…" She swallows. "Stuff."

"Stuff," he repeats, brow furrowing as if he's just heard an intellectual word he does not know the definition of. "Stuff… and things?"

"Stuff and things." She can't help a laugh. "Yup. You got it on the nose."

This isn't right. They can't just talk circles around what happened back there—

Johnny settles in completely, raking a hand through his tufty dark hair. His other hand reaches for and successfully grabs the paper.

As he reads the lines, her heart dances in her chest. He replaces the paper back where it was before and offers her a toothy grin that shows off the tips of his canines. "That's great. I love it."

Ash quirks an eyebrow at him. "Really? You do?"

"Well, don't sound so surprised," he says. "It really is terrific. And if Mr. Moon likes how it, how can I not?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."

"How 'bout you sing a few lines?"

Her fingers tighten around the guitar. "I… what?"

The next ten seconds are a dazed blur. His arm stretches forward and his thumb strokes her jawline. Then he leans forward and plants a warm kiss on her forehead. When he pulls back, there's a definite blush under all that fur. His grin remains ever present. "Come on. For me? If we're gonna sing a duet, we gotta know how exactly it'll work."

She draws a gulp of air through her lungs. "O- okay," she mumbles. "I'll try my best."

 _Deep breaths, Ash. Inhale. Exhale. It's only Johnny…_

It's only Johnny? She holds back a wry chuckle. That's the problem. He's not _only_ Johnny anymore. He _is_ Johnny, and the entire meaning of that word has changed in a span of forty-five minutes.

She guides the foreign pick over the strings, playing the guitar quietly like an acoustic, and begins.

" _I'm fast. You're slow._ " Breaths… " _When I wanna speed up, you wanna stop, wanna take a breath._ " Pause. " _I wanna run, run to next base. But you wanna camp out at home plate._ " Since when are her hands so sweaty? They've never been this sweaty. " _Every time I tell myself to go, something makes me stay, stay, stay…_ "

She hesitates before the chorus and her eyes flit up in his direction. He's listening attentively, face slack as he absorbs her words. She continues.

 _"I'm a racecar, and you're the brakes. I'm a butterfly, and you're the wind pushing me the wrong way, way, way…_

" _Every time I tell myself to go, something makes me love, love you even more. It's like I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps going, going on. You're the tracks I run on— the very foundation that keeps me on my feet. And when you slow me down. I speed you up, up, up. Baby, I'm your rollercoaster… and we'll keep running, running, 'til our love tires out._ "

As her voice fades away along with the final chord of music, he claps. He wears an even wider beam on his face now, something that shows off every one of his pearly whites.

"Ash!" he exclaims. "That was extraordinary! It sounds even better in your voice than in the voice in my head." He rises to his feet and pulls the unwitting porcupine with him. "Now all I need to do is figure out how to incorporate piano in there, and…" He trails off when he sees the baffled expression on her face. "… what?"

"Johnny, I… ah… thank you. So much. But I just… what is happening between us right now? A- after you know… what's going on here? What did that kiss mean? I know I was the one who started it, but…" She stops her rambling and just stares at him desperately, willing him to understand her struggle.

She can't get over how insanely tall he is— or how insanely short she is— and to her relief he once again crouches down so they're face to face. Her small paws are immersed in the soothing hold of his large fingers.

"I think it means… that we don't wanna fight. We don't want things to stay complicated. It means t- that we care about each other as a little more than friends." She can see the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. "Am I right?"

She processes his words, then nods. The motion of her neck is stiff, like it's a rusty part that needs to be oiled. "Yeah. I think you are. But I'm not sure there's any way to be more than friends without making things more complicated."

"They'd be complicated, sure," he says. "But it would be a good kind of complicated, not the kind of complicated we've been in for the past few days."

Ash smiles. "Hmm. The good kind of complicated," she repeats pensively. "Still sounds scary, but… I'm willing to try if you are."

His smile mirrors hers. "I'm always willing to try."

And they do try. It's a bumpy start, as with most relationships. They keep it on the down low, and act discreet around the theater group. As another week slips by and the impressive heat of July sets it on the city, all is still well. They see each other during the day at rehearsals, then return home to their respective residences come six o'clock.

It's a Tuesday evening when Ash decides to try her luck. They're editing the next verse of the song— working title "Rollercoaster"— when she speaks up suddenly.

"Why don't you come over to my place tonight? Hang out for a bit."

It's so hot inside the theater, it feels like the broiling sun has come in with them. _You'd think a brand new building would have decent air conditioning_ , she thinks to herself in annoyance. Buster repeatedly informs them that he's "working on it" with Ms. Crawly; yet Ash has the feeling they're not really succeeding. Every time she walks by the room where the large unit is housed, she hears lots of uncharacteristic cursing from her boss along with a mournful wail from his elderly assistant. The others have tried to intervene and help out multiple times (or tell them to just hire a handyman) but the koala hasn't given up on his efforts just yet. So, until then, they have to suffer and cook in the Calatonian heat. She can't even begin to imagine how Eddie must feel under all that thick wool.

So that is why Johnny's treasured leather jacket is currently thrown to the side on the floor. He's also traded in his typical green and gold lightning bolt sweater for a short sleeved version made with a lighter material. Ash has also ditched her usual outfit and wandered out of her comfort zone by sporting a plain grey tank top and leggings.

With Johnny in short sleeves, that also means the brawny muscles of his arms are exposed for all to see— and for her in particular to enjoy. She sees those handsome muscles stiffen at her statement. Sparks of nerves gleam in his brown orbs.

"You want me… to come over?" One of his canines pokes out to dig into his bottom lip. At her admittedly sultry nod, he visibly struggles to swallow. "W- what would we do at your place?"

"I dunno." She runs her hands down her legs. The black fabric clings to her carves with sweat as glue. "Maybe… make out a little bit. See where it goes from there."

Making out is basically all they have been doing since they agreed to a "good kind of complicated" relationship. It tends to play out with her casually walking down the hall to the restroom, then him following her in a few minutes later if the coast is clear. More than once, he's left her sitting on the floor next to the sink twiddling her thumbs. He claims it's because Rosita looked more alert that time, or because Buster was roaming from room to room to check on everyone's progress, making it impossible for Johnny to slide by unnoticed.

Ash appreciates that he prefers to take it slow. But at the same time she doesn't want him to go slow just for her. They'd warned themselves a relationship would muddy the waters and complicate shit, and already some of the clarity between them has blurred. Figures.

She goes on smiling sweetly at him, crossing one leg over the other as she leans back against the wall, hands in her lap. She waits for his response. And waits. And waits.

"Okay," he says. "It's a date."

They both startle somewhat when he says "date," but neither protests it. Why lie to themselves? After all, it is what it is.

Ash can't argue with facts. So she focuses on the assortment of nerves in the pit of her belly instead.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny has been peering into the grimy mirror on his bathroom wall for well over fifteen minutes now.

He'd thought they were going at a good enough pace. This entire relationship thing was so sudden, and it's still so young. What if he fucks everything up tonight? Chances are, Buster would still make them sing the duet together. They've gotten too far on the song to diverge paths now.

In fact, Johnny is obsessed with the song. It's a great enough song on its own, but knowing Ash's name is attached to it makes him weak for it. He hums the beat to himself, already hearing her voice in his head with the chirp of his piano in the background.

" _Baby, I'm your rollercoaster… and we'll keep runnin', runnin', 'til our love tires out…_ " He sighs, squirting another coin-size dollop of blue gel into his palm. He smears it into his wild mop of hair, slicking the strands back until they sit in a satisfactory manner. Screw it; that's as good enough as he's going to get it.

The clear day turned into an overcast and drizzly one, so he climbs into his truck for the short drive over to Ash's place. Or, at least, he hopes it'll be short; there's really no telling since it's his first visit.

When he pulls up to the correct building, he squeezes the truck into a parking space— curse parallel parking— and heads to her front door.

Cue panic mode. His hands are slicker than a waterslide, and he can feel the heat in both his cheeks as if they're pressed against stove burners. He clutches the bouquet of rich red roses as he tentatively knocks on the door.

She's swift to answer, and hurriedly she ushers him inside. It's a nice enough place, but very porcupine-sized. He almost feels the need to duck as she leads him into the living room, even though he's not _quite_ tall enough to need to bend down.

"Here," he says, thrusting the roses in her face. "For you."

"Oh!" Ash grins, taking the flowers and grabbing a vase to fill with water and place them in. "Thanks, babe—" She halts in her tracks, freezing at the sink. For a long moment the only sound in the apartment is running water out of the tap. Then she goes "I- I mean…"

"Nah, don't worry about it." Johnny leans onto the kitchen counter, eyeing the outfit she'd chosen for tonight. It looks like the same outfit from earlier, except she's thrown on a wavy skirt over the leggings. There's a few beats of silence, then he says, "You look beautiful."

She sets the vase on the counter, briefly submerging her nose in the flowers, before her mesmerizing blue gaze shifts over to him. "Thank you. You look… different."

He tilts his head. "Good different or bad different?"

A smile splits apart her pursed lips. "Good different. Definitely. I just don't usually see your hair…" She motions over the top of her head. "… slicked back like that."

"Ah, yeah," he mutters. "I decided to try something different, for you."

"For me?" She giggles. "You shouldn't have."

He gives her a salute. "I'll keep that in mind for next time, then."

"Ooh, so there will be a next time? Guess I'm doing something right." Once she offers him something to drink and he declines, Ash strides around from the other side of the counter and makes her way to the couch in the living room. It's a white sofa, strewn with pillows and a few stray song sheets. She swipes the papers away and they flutter to the ground, then she motions for him to sit next to her.

A deafening silence hangs over the room. Johnny takes this time to get a closer look at everything. There's a small TV in front of the couch, with a music corner to the right. Well, really the entire apartment is a "music corner," but that spot in particular boasts her guitar and the tallest stack of music sheets that's leaning more precariously than the Tower of Pisa. He notices a fairly recent picture of himself, Ash and Meena from the music festival in April. The photo is hanging above the TV, a glare from the overhead light perfectly blotting out Meena's face in a circle of white. It makes it seem like he and Ash were alone there, and with his arm slung over her shoulders and her arm wrapped behind his back in a sideways hug, they practically scream "we're a couple."

Then, they definitely weren't a couple. But now? Lord knows.

"Is there anything you want to know about me?" Ash asks.

He inclines his head to look at her. "Whataya mean?"

"Like, now that we're… broadening our horizons with each other, is there anything you've ever wanted to ask me but were too scared to say?"

He nibbles on his lip for the fiftieth time since he arrived. "Okay, well, this one has been botherin' me for a while now… how exactly do you porcupines put your shirt on? Like, doesn't it get caught in your quills at all or…?"

She laughs at the simplicity and innocence of the question, as does he. The blush that warms his cheeks now is more pleasant than before. "I usually buy things with zippers or buttons down the back or front. Otherwise I step into the neck hole of the shirt and slide it upward that way." She gives him a light shove. "It's really not that involved, you dumbass."

Johnny snorts. "Well, it seems pretty 'involved' to me." He blinks down at her fondly. "Is there… anything you want to ask me?"

Ash strokes her chin, pretending to think for an extended moment. Then out of nowhere she nestled into his side. Her spines flatten so she doesn't prick him— how she does it, he has no clue, another question for him to ask her eventually— and she asks, "When did you realize you liked me?"

 _"Like" is a light way to put it,_ he thinks to himself. _More like obsess over, crush on hard, fall head over heels over…_

"Probably at the big concert in December," he admits. "I was a bit out of it during your performance, because my da—" He clears his throat. "I- I mean I was drained after singing in front of that huge crowd and playing a song I thought I barely now. I think it was right after three of your quills got lodged in my side—"

She winces. "Sorry…"

"All's forgiven. But it was then that I glanced up, and I saw you out there. Bobbing you head, slamming on your guitar, without a care in the world. You had t- that short dress on, and the glittery eyeshadow, and it was a way I'd never seen you before. You looked so gorgeous, and fierce, and strong, and I think that's what got me."

Ash's jaw hangs open, limp and hopefully amazed or flattered or both. He rests his hand under her chin, gently shutting her mouth, and then pulls her lips to his once more.

They don't go any further than making out again that night, on the white couch in her cozy apartment. They have every opportunity, every right to, but they don't. And that's fine. He's still caught up in this whirlwind of him and her, and he doesn't want to move so fast that he becomes lost.

His relationship with Ash is the good kind of complicated. There's no need for him to wander into the territory of bad complicated, not when he can finally hold her in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

**I took my time more on this chapter, so hopefully there's not as many typos. I'm thinking things will really start taking an interesting turn in the next few chapters, so please stay tuned! And until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you so much for all the love and kindness - as always I adore reading your thoughts and input :D**

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So, as it turns out, Meena is highly skilled at convincing Ash to do anything she wants. Even if the "anything" is something Ash really does _not_ want to do at all.

It's a Saturday in early July and she's at the boardwalk with none other than her two best friends, one of whom happens to be a maybe-possibly-more-than-just-a-friend kind of friend.

Venice Beach is teeming with animals of all shapes and sizes, many of them clad in embarrassingly revealing swimsuits. Several are still dripping wet from being in the ocean— including a big shaggy dog who just shook water droplets all over Ash's party.

Now she is as soaked as any of the other idiots who'd just been splashing on the beach. Anger spills into her blood, making her veins pulse. She glances from Johnny and Meena, who are trying to mop up themselves with what meager resources they have, to the oblivious canine.

"Hey, excuse me, sir," Ash says. Her tone conveys sweetness, but anybody who knows her well knows better than to assume that. The porcupine ignores the horrified looks on her friends' faces and goes on to stand on her toes and tap the dog on the shoulder.

"Hm?" The Newfoundland turns around, his gruff voice only accentuating how clueless he really is. He glances around for somebody standing eye-level before shifting his brown gaze downward. "Oh!" He jumps back a few feet from the prickly animal who barely reaches his waist.

Ash maintains her sugary tone. "Yeah, I'm really sorry— I'm not sure if you were aware, but my friends and I aren't towels for you to splatter your stinky musk all over."

The stranger narrows his eyes, then laughs. He nods to the concerned gorilla and elephant trembling behind Ash. "Ohhhh, alright. So is your terrified little entourage gonna throw a fit too, or is it just you I have to face, pipsqueak?"

"Pipsqueak!" she spits. She digs through the disorganized piles of memories in her mind, trying to think of Mike's retaliation to that particular insult. She comes up with nothing, and so she improvises. "You know what? Okay. You want to _face_ me, then _face_ me. And while you're at it, how about you fight me, you dumb fu—"

Johnny leaps forward right then, an annoyingly apologetic grin on his face. "Y- you must forgive my friend 'ere, w- what she means to say is that you're a stupid jerk dinkleschplat."

The Newfoundland wrinkles his snout. "Dinkleslab?"

Johnny shrugs. "Eh, close enough." He gives a low bow to the dog, then smiles widely at him. "'Ave a nice day, now, ya big fluffy wanker." As he says this, Ash feels his hand grab hers.

Just as she sees the dull glint of yellow teeth appearing from behind the dog's curled lip, Ash is yanked backwards and away from the slobbery mass of tangled brown fur.

She can only regain her footing once she's pulled into a packed restaurant. Ash shakes her hand free of Johnny's, and only barely recognizes that's the first time they've held hands in public. Yet it was under very different circumstances than she'd originally envisioned.

"Ash! What has gotten into you?" Johnny demands. The music in the eatery is loud, but sadly it can't overwhelm his accusatory words. "Are you outta your mind? That bloke coulda walloped you into next century!"

Meena shudders as she rubs at her damp sleeve. "He _was_ being rude. And now I feel like I just stepped out of a gross saltwater shower."

" _And_ used wet dog scented shampoo," Ash puts in. She tosses her arms up in the air. "I mean, that guy didn't even know who we are!"

Johnny crosses his arms. "Who we are? Who are we, Ash?"

She hesitates. She knows what he means by the question, and as much as it hurts to think about the truth, she can't help it.

They're nobody. Even following the big concert and the many gigs after that, the group's refusal to sign with any producers has put a damper on their success. And that's to be expected. Everyone seems to have a solid excuse: Rosita can't leave behind her children to go on tour. Mike is finally starting to settle down for the first time in his life, as is Gunter. Meena is balancing music with a few classes at the local university. And Johnny insists he needs to stay near his dad, whatever that means. For all Ash knows, his dad is deathly ill in the hospital, or worse. So she doesn't broach the subject with him.

Ash actually has little reason to _not_ leave the city. She's young, she's legally an adult who can do whatever she pleases, and she wasn't tied down by anyone until very recently. All too suddenly, Johnny has become her reason. He's the sole reason she won't leave. He's the weight holding her down, the ball and chain attached to her foot. It fucking sucks, but she doesn't even know how to begin addressing that issue.

And so, no record deals also equals dwindling success until the theater's next show. Buster earns plenty of revenue from the tours he goes on with Eddie and Ms. Crawly in order to gain attention for the shows. He's been keeping everyone supplied with decent paychecks. And now that the theater is fully rebuilt, there's no reason for there to not be smaller, more minor shows in between the large concerts.

Until the "Dynamic Duets" show— the big reopener— however, they are all forgotten. People know Ash's voice, but not her face. For a few weeks after the big concert, there was minimal paparazzi following her around. But the tabloids and newspapers and magazines must refresh their content frequently, and within a month or so everyone in the theater group had cycled out, and their faces faded from most animals' memory. Thinking about this stings, like getting slapped in the face or applying antiseptic to an open wound.

They're forgotten.

For the time being, that is.

"We _are_ somebody, Johnny," Ash tells him, and she means it. "Even if the media doesn't care about us anymore, we are still people who exist and who matter. That asshole had no right to trample all over us, to hell with size differences." It has occurred to Ash how ironic it is that she, the smallest animal in their trio, is the one to stand up to bullies. Then she reminds herself— if she doesn't put her foot down, then who will? And besides, she's armed with plenty of weapons on her back.

A look of tiredness darkens Johnny's face, as if a shadow has fallen over him. "Whatever. I don't feel like arguin' wit' you." He straightens and looks around the crowded restaurant. "You ladies up for pizza?"

Meena nods eagerly, but Ash shrugs. She's been battling some type of stomach bug for the past few weeks that comes and goes. A greasy slice of pizza heaped with mushrooms, her usual favorite topping, now only makes her feel nauseous.

A hostess directs them to a booth, and thankfully Meena scoots in next to Ash rather than Johnny. He peruses the menu, and as expected he suggests they all split a pie with mushrooms on top. Meena agrees. Ash quietly sips her water.

Soon before their food is due to arrive, Meena drags Ash to the ladies' room.

"Jeez, girl, if you have to go then just go. Don't bring me along," Ash says breathlessly as they stand in front of the mirror.

"I brought you here because something is up with you. Again." Ash notices the flash of guilt in her friend's eyes, probably from tacking on that sassy "again" to her statement.

"I'm just tired," Ash tells her. "And still annoyed." She gazes into the smudgy mirror, and tucks a few stray quills behind one ear. "That guy was such a jerk, but Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes wouldn't let me have my way with him."

Meena bites her lip. "Johnny was just protecting you, Ash. What if you were alone when you confronted that stranger? He could've really hurt you."

"Why does everyone think I'm weak just because I'm part of the shorter population?" Ash spins around to face her best friend. "I _have_ quills, and I'm _not_ afraid to use them."

"I'm just saying…"

"You don't need to justify everything Johnny does, Meen." Ash drums her fingers against the porcelain countertop, willingly digging a deeper grave for herself. "You think I haven't noticed?"

Meena's wide ears retract in towards her face. "Noticed?"

Ash wonders exactly when she became like all of the popular, bitchy girls she hated in high school. The ones who spread rumors about anyone including their alleged allies. The ones who were vicious and ruthless and spit their venom at any target slow enough and weak enough to take it.

"You totally have a crush on him." The porcupine narrows her eyes and tilts her head at Meena. "Don't you?"

Her friend sighs, and rolls out the last response Ash expected. "Okay, fine. If I'm crushing on Johnny, then you definitely are too."

A lump builds up in Ash's throat. _She doesn't know the half of it._ "Maybe," she croaks. And she leaves the bathroom, Meena on her heels.

When they get back to the table, the pizza is there and Johnny is waiting patiently with his hands clasped together. "Ah, there ya two are. I was gettin' worried you lot might've accidentally flushed yourselves down the toilet," he teases them with a smile. While Ash is relieved that the moody storm cloud seems to have drifted away from him, she's also irritated by his cheerfulness. Sometimes it feels like he is just putting on a show to mask deeper emotions. But she's probably just overthinking everything as per usual.

Meena, apparently undisturbed by the strange turn her and Ash's conversation in the restroom took, giggles and plops a steaming slice onto her plate. Johnny does the same. Ash just stares.

They're both halfway through their slices when he takes notice of the porcupine's atypical behavior.

"Ash, aren't ya gonna eat?" he asks.

She feels the searing burn of bile rising up in her throat again, and she washes it down with a few gulps of water. "I'm… uh, trying to lose weight." It's the first excuse her mind draws out of thin air, and now she has no choice but to stick with the shitty lie.

Johnny and Meena appear to be at a loss for words. His gleaming eyes flick from his half-finished pizza to her, then he sets the food back down on the plate. "But…" He clears this throat. "Why?"

"Oh, y'know…" Ash clicks her tongue in order to fill the dead air as she thinks. "I've never been on the lighter side for my species, all things considered, sooo…"

Meena takes another calculated bite. "I thought you were just sick. Or did you get over that?"

"What? N- no, I—"

"At rehearsal the other day I read you gagging in the hallway bathroom." Meena frowned apologetically. "I was going to bring in a container of my grandmom's noodle soup or something, but I didn't want to embarrass you."

Ash heaves a sigh and buries her face in her hands. A particularly strong whiff of mushroom smacks her nose and she groans. "Yeah, fine. I'm not feeling my best. But I still wanted to go out with you guys tonight, since we haven't done much of anything in a while…"

Johnny stands up abruptly, shoveling what is either his second or third slice into his mouth. "How 'bout some fresh air to make ya feel better?" He motions to the waiter for the check while encouraging Meena to down another several mouthfuls of mozzarella, sauce and dough.

"W- wait you don't have…" The rest of her sentence dies on Ash's tongue as she is ushered out of the restaurant she'd been dragged into not even a half hour earlier.

The crowd on the boardwalk has thinned somewhat since they were last outside, but it's still bustling enough to jostle the teens around. Wordlessly Johnny leads the girls away from the carnival games and cheap gift shops. Soon they're at the edge of a sea of sand, and Johnny's unlacing his shoes.

"Wait," Ash repeats. "I'm not really a beach person—"

He flashes her a suave smile. "Why didja move 'ere then?"

She can't even bring herself to say "For my music career, you oaf" out of fear she'll sound too bitchy. That's definitely a new thought for her to have, considering the situation with Shaggy the dog earlier.

Both of her friends already have their Converse off and dangling on their fingers/toes. Ash stands, dumbfounded, as the pair skips gleefully toward the ocean, spraying sand behind their large feet.

She bends down to untie her shoes, holding her heaving stomach for a moment until the nausea passes. With an unenthusiastic exhale, she gathers her well-worn footwear in one hand and steps onto the sand.

The sky is darkening surprisingly early for eight o'clock on a July night. There's a few creamy orange and pink streaks near the horizon, sliding downward like globs of sherbet melting in the sun's glare. The sand shares the sun's dying heat, and is toasty as it blankets Ash's toes. As she tries to adopt a half-assed jog to catch up with the others, she can feel the stupid tiny grains starting to cling to the fur around her ankles.

Then another new-ish thought hits her: _fuck it._ And her poor excuse for a jog turns into a full-on sprint. For now, any trace of nausea melts away like the sun, and for the first time in a while there's a true smile on her face. She can't even bother to acknowledge the twinge of jealousy she feels at seeing Johnny and Meena running a few yards ahead side by side. She knows where his loyalty friendship-wise lies: with both Meena and Ash. But relationship-wise? Ash has a pretty good idea he's with her there, no matter how complicated it might be.

Johnny doesn't even pause to take a breath before leaping right into the foamy blue-gray waters. Meena is a touch more resistant, but before long she's splashing right alongside him. Ash stands, panting, at the border between wet and dry sand. The ocean laps hungrily at her toes and roars triumphantly every time a wave hits the shore.

She hasn't been to the beach that many times. Her hometown was rooted in a landlocked state that saw maybe an hour total of vaguely interesting action annually if it was lucky. Ash had naturally been super excited to get out of there, even if it meant leaving behind her parents. It wasn't like they would miss her anyway, and even now as Ash stands here years later, she wouldn't be surprised if they have not noticed her absence yet.

Her first time at the beach was very brief, and very terrifying. It was in mid-March, and the water had felt like icy claws wrapping around her ankles. Her next visit had been with Lance, just before her eighteenth birthday in June. They'd walked along the shoreline hand in hand like an old couple with their jeans cuffed and shoes dangling from their free hands.

This is her third meeting with the Pacific Ocean, and she doesn't know what to think of it.

"C'mon, Ash!" She hears Johnny's voice over the crash of the waves. "Whataya waitin' for?"

She sticks a toe in the water and winces. It's chilly, but not unbearably so. A short-lived stab of nausea twists her stomach before disappearing again. The porcupine hikes up the frayed hems of her leggings and skirt, gulps, and steps into the stormy sea.

Instantly a spritz of water hits her square in the face. It's like she's walking into a wall of mist. And she'd just gotten dry after that stupid dog got her soaked…

She wades a little bit deeper to get closer to her friends. At this point she's in up to a little over her knees, while Johnny and Meena are standing roughly shin-deep in the water.

"Uh, you guys… I don't think I can go any further—"

Out of nowhere, Johnny appears and sweeps her off her feet. He lifts her high above his head and sets her on one of his broad shoulders. Ash's breath catches in the web in her throat, but she recovers and promptly begins to kick her legs at him. "Johnny, put me down—!"

"Only if you promise to stop being a party pooper!" he yells back.

Ash grinds her teeth together and watches Meena suck water up into her trunk then squirt it at Johnny. He narrowly dodges the stream, but some of it hits Ash's arm. She squeezes her eyes shut and begins to scream, stubborn as ever. " _Johnny, if you don't put me down right now you'll wish you'd never been born…!_ "

 **oo0oo**

Later that night her lips are glued to his. It's probably past midnight when they drop Meena off at her house. He shifts the car into drive and only makes it two blocks before she reels him in.

It's like she's unknowingly set a trap for him. Both of them are soaked through with ocean water from head to toe. They ended up walking through the parking lot barefoot, neither wanting to ruin their shoes by forcing them back on with salty, grimy feet. She still looks unbelievably attractive even with damp fur and dripping quills. She looks positively exhausted as well, yet her eyes still retain that cobalt blue flame. There's a smirk fighting to be seen on her face as she gazes out the window at the houses going by.

He pulls the truck back over to the curb and sets it into park. She twists around, squeaking against the shabby gray fabric. "Why did you stop?" she asks blatantly. "Did we run out of gas or someth—"

He wraps one hand behind her head— placing it carefully so as to not get pricked— and closes the gap between their mouths. He loves the feeling of her curled fingers grazing his cheek, of her straining against the seatbelt to rest her hands on his upper arms, of the tiny puffs warming his lips each time she exhales.

Another car speeding past jerks them out of their own little world. As they catch their respective breaths, neither utters even a grunt. Johnny glides his tongue over his lips, gathering any remaining taste of her, and resumes driving.

They make it the rest of the way to her apartment without needing any "stops," and for the first time ever Johnny finds himself cursing red lights for being too fast.

She doesn't hop out of the car at first. He wonders if she needs help getting down from the considerable height, but then she speaks.

"Can you tell me something?"

"Depends what it is."

"Why don't you… like, sign with someone?"

He's not sure why the nature of her question disappoints him, but it does. For some odd reason, he would've preferred to answer something regarding _them_. Surely she too must be wondering what they're doing is called. Friends with benefits, minus sex?

… well, shit. He has no clue what to say. He turns the key in the ignition, and the rumbling engine is put to sleep for the time being.

"I dunno. Guess I'd rather just stay here in the city," he says.

He can feel her curious gaze, like laser vision, burning holes in the side of his face.

"But I don't get it. You say you have to stay with your dad."

"Yeah…"

"Is your dad okay? Like, is he sick?" She sounds genuine enough, and his heart trills for the millionth time because _god_ , she is so lovely.

He has a split second, maybe two, to make a decision. _We promised we'd be more open with each other._ If he introduces her into this shadowy and mysterious part of his life, then maybe she will reveal hidden parts of herself to him as well. It can't hurt, right? He's on good terms with his father now. Everything is forgiven, even if Johnny still suffers at least one flood of guilt daily.

"Are you doin' anythin' tomorrow?" he finally asks.

"You kidding? No."

"I'll be here to pick you up, m'kay? Ten o'clock sharp."

Ash blinks a few times, clearly still puzzled. "What for?"

He grips the steering wheel and doesn't meet her eyes. "I'm gonna take you somewhere."


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm sorry about the slightly longer wait than usual. I'm not the happiest with this chapter, but it'll have to do for now! Thank you all so much for the love and the comments :) Also, I really need to make these POVs more even. Ash's is always way longer than Johnny's. Oops!**

* * *

Just as he promised, Johnny is there to pick her up exactly at ten the next morning, not one minute sooner or later.

Ash is nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee when she opens the door for him. "Come on in," she mutters, voice still gravelly from sleep. "I just need a sec then I'll be right out—"

Her trudge back to her room is interrupted by a rather sharp tone from him. "No, Ash… we gotta go now."

She glances over her shoulder, one corner or her mouth twisting downward. A ghostly plume, the dying breath of heat from her hour-old coffee, reaches up to tickle her nose. "Alright, alright, jeez. Thought I was supposed to be the prickly one here," she says, reaching back to flick one of her quills for emphasis.

She takes quicker steps back to her room and rummages through her miniscule closet for something that doesn't smell like it was dug from the bottom of a dumpster. Doing this brings her back to her days living in her sleepy hometown with her parents. She's never been a girly girl of course, but not quite a tomboy either— she never enjoyed sports. Instead she's classified herself as somewhere in the middle. And so, like most boys, Ash was just fine leaving heaps of dirty clothes all around her room. Her mother would barge in there and scream various obscene phrases at her about the clothes. A couple of Ash's favorites included _"Clean that shit up, Ashlynn, or so god help me!"_ and _"Ashlynn. May. Woods. If you don't pick up your clothes, or do your own goddamn laundry, I am going to have an aneurysm."_

Ash hasn't heard her full name spoken in such a way since she was sixteen years old. That was the year she bought a bus ticket to Calatonia. She's only heard her ugly, horrible full name twice since she arrived in the city: the day she got her driver's license, and the day she graduated high school. Few people know her complete name, and none of them are in the theater group. The day of the auditions, she only gave Buster her first name. And her official name as an artist is just "Ash." She prefers to keep it that way.

Back in the present, Ash finally finds something suitable for wear. She slips out of the ratty oversized t-shirt she uses for pajamas and into one of her typical outfits: striped shirt and red skirt.

Johnny is noticeably flustered when she returns from her room. He's hopping from one foot to the other, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He jerks his head at the open door, she rolls her eyes at him, and they're off.

The first portion of the car ride is silent. Ash snuggles against the plush seat as she continues sucking down her coffee. At this point it's gotten completely cold, and now she's kicking herself for not thinking to put a few ice cubes in the cup on her way out— then it could've been slightly-more-edible iced coffee!

"So," she pipes up when the silence gets under her skin. "Why so early in the morning?"

One of his hands is placed on the steering wheel, the other holding firm on the gear shift. It unsettles her. "Ten is not that early," he says.

"Yes, it is," she argues.

"No, it's not."

"Yes."

"Nope."

" _Yes_!" She slams her cup into the cup holder. "God damn it, Johnny! What is so important that it required me to get up at this unholy hour?"

There's a long pause before he answers. His balloon of silence is pierced by a car horn from behind them, and the truck lunges forward at a green light.

"You'll see soon," he assures her. His voice is softer now, more subdued, as if her outburst scared him into retreating like a turtle into its shell.

The trip doesn't take much longer after that.

When the car comes to a halt in a parking space, Ash is bewildered. There's a stone gray prison glaring at them through the grimy windshield.

"Johnny, I don't…"

"You'll see," he says for the second time. He gets out of the car and she tries her best to mimic his casual stance as they enter the unwelcoming building.

The interior is just as dismal as the exterior. Ash shrinks away from the cement block walls like they're monsters with sharp fangs. She feels small as ever when they reach the front desk; she has to strain her eyes to see the ragged panther police officer.

"Johnny Alderson, here with a friend to see my father Vince Alderson," Johnny tells the panther. Ash wobbles as she stands on her tiptoes to better understand what the hell is going on.

The panther casts an unimpressed glance from one friend to the other. He has a pen grasped in his paw, and he flicks it lazily between Johnny and Ash.

"Only one visitor at a time is allowed, buddy," the cop says.

"Can you please make an exception, just this once?" Johnny begs. His fist is clenching and unclenching, and Ash's uneasiness level climbs one notch higher.

The panther shakes his head, and even after Johnny nearly drops to his knees pleading, the officer is unable to be swayed. So the young gorilla wipes his sweaty face with a hand, heaves a slow, weighted sigh through his lungs, and looks down at Ash.

"Well, I guess it was stupid ta bring ya here anyways…"

"No," she cuts in. "I want to see him."

A surprised expression etches itself onto his handsome face. "You… do?" At her insistent nod, his frown deepens. "Why?"

"He's your father, Johnny. If this is your way of being more open to me, then I'm all for it. And if I have to go in there alone, then so be it."

Her friend still seems dumbfounded even as he heads back to the visitation room. Ash goes to an old plastic chair that screeches like an owl against the floor when she sits in it.

While spending the next fifteen minutes staring at the scuffed-up linoleum under her feet, she desperately tries to think what Johnny's father could possibly be in prison for. And why does his name sound so familiar…?

She squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her temples. _Vince Alderson, Vince Alderson—_ oh. She remembers.

She saw that name in a newspaper article online months ago, probably around December. An excerpt flashes in her mind: _"Vince Alderson, 51, who goes by the name 'Big Daddy,' was arrested early Wednesday afternoon. He is currently being held in prison without bail. For the past five months, a manhunt was underway to find the perpetrators of the multiple thieveries at the pier…"_

December. That was around the same time as the big concert. Ash bites down hard on her lip. That entire time, during rehearsals and the reconstruction of the temporary stage, Johnny had also been dealing with a criminal father? Ash had been none the wiser. At the time she read that article— or, more like skimmed over the article— she hadn't even made the connection with last names.

That entire time, Johnny had needed support, maybe even _wanted_ support. Yet nobody had the knowledge or wherewithal to be there for him.

She's never felt so useless before.

The remainder of the minutes tick by at the speed of dripping tar, and she practically leaps out of her seat upon Johnny's return to the front area.

"He's…" The gorilla stumbles over his words. "H- he's ready ta see you."

"So he does want to see me?"

Johnny grits his teeth as he moves forward to take her seat. "Don't sound so unsure, it'll make me even more nervous."

A serious-faced cop points Ash in the direction of the visitation room, and she walks in cautiously. She doesn't really know what to expect; maybe some snarling prisoners in black and white striped clothes brawling in a corner, insults and swear words being hurled back and forth from visitor to prisoner. Instead, it's a very plain room filled with quiet murmurs. At least five police officers are stationed around the room, which is split in half. One half prisoners, the other half for visitors.

Ash scans over the line of faces on the opposite side, and he's easy to find because there is only one gorilla.

When she settles down on the stool facing Johnny's father, the guy looks somewhat taken aback. Confusion clouds his eyes, but he holds the phone steady to his ear and waits for her to make the first move.

Ash clears her throat before speaking into the mouthpiece. "Uh, hello. I'm Ash, a… friend of Johnny's." Friend. Sure, whatever. That's how Johnny referred to her at the front desk, so she might as well remain consistent.

"You're Ash?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's me."

He chuckles. "M'kay. I'll take yer werd fer it." His accent is thicker than Johnny's, dripping with more European flair.

Hoping some of the ice is broken now, she also laughs politely. "Why? What were you expecting?"

"Ay… he didn't 'zactly tell me yer a porcupine." His enormous shoulders shift up then down in a shrug. His orange jumpsuit is stretched taut across his broad frame. "But ya seem nice ernuff fer me son."

Ash smiles. "Yeah, we're pretty good friends. I don't know how much he's told you, but um… we did meet through singing."

"An' that weird koala dude? Buddy er somethin'?"

She stifles a louder laugh as she imagines how appalled Buster would be by Vince's mistake. Not offended, just… surprised. "Yep. Buster Moon is our boss. He's a good guy, just like Johnny."

The huge animal's eyes sparkle. She notices how pale they are, sky blue, unlike his son's. She wonders where that gorgeous chocolate-colored gaze came from, then.

"Johnny's told me a lot 'bout ya, actually," Vince says. "He says he really admires yer singin'."

"Oh." Her cheeks warm.

"An' that ya two are workin' togedder, on a new song."

Ash's head bobs up and down cheerfully. "That's right, we're together— I mean, like, partners… like, musical partners, y'know what I mean."

The amused glimmer in Vince's eyes is beginning to bother her, especially when it's highlighted during her stutter. "Wot is it yer song's called again?"

"As of right now, it's 'Rollercoaster,' but we might change it," she tells him.

His chuckle is infectious, and she can feel it spread with the nervous tickle in her ribcage. "How 'bout ya sing a few lines fer me?"

There's a light flickering overhead, its fluorescent scowl creating a glare on the insulated glass between them. She blinks hard, but still her eye twitches. "Excuse me?"

"C'mon. How much music do ya think I get ta hear in jail?" Vince pouts.

Ash's throat trembles as she gulps. "O- okay," she gives in. She leans in to the glass, prays the bull to her left won't overhear, and sings softly into the mouthpiece.

" _I'm the hare, and you're the tortoise. I'm the one coasting free over the desert, and you're stuck in the quicksand, sand, sand…_

" _Yet every time I tell myself to go, something makes me love, love you even more. It's like I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps going, going on… and you're startin' to catch up, up…_ "

She trails off, and winces as her voice pitches too high on the last word. That was the latest verse she and Johnny have been working on, though it's still very new and has yet to be subjected to their tweaking.

Luckily, Vince grins. And in that moment he looks exactly like Johnny, framed in the square of scratched glass. It's comforting to her, seeing Johnny's smile plastered on this near stranger's face. Her heart calms its erratic thudding.

"That was wonderful," he remarks. "Me son is right. Yer a very talented young lady."

Ash is submerged in an overwhelming wave of relief. A relaxed smile perches on her face. "Thank you," she murmurs.

They part with cordial goodbyes, and Ash stays standing in the middle of the visitors' half of the room, watching as a uniformed rhino escorts Johnny's dad back to his cell.

Johnny is teetering on the edge of his seat when she returns to the waiting area. She doesn't waste time exiting the building, and lets out a content breath as the stuffy, unpleasant air is left behind.

He jogs to catch up to her. "So? How did it go? Did he embarrass you?"

Ash waits at the passenger door of his truck. "No. He was very kind." As they climb up into the car, she shoots him a thoughtful glance. "He has the same smile as you."

Johnny scrunches up his nose and starts the truck. The engine rumbles to life. "I guess so, I never really noticed."

"But you don't have his eyes," she points out.

"Oh." He scratches behind his head. "I 'ave my ma's eyes, or so I've heard."

Ash's playful grin falters. "You didn't know your mom?"

"She left when I was a lil' over one. Dad always said she had 'brown eyes warmer than a cup o' cocoa.' When I was younger, he used to say I reminded him so much of her." Ash watches his fingers drum along the steering wheel, then curl around it. "He doesn't say it as much anymore."

"I'm… I'm sorry," she mumbles, not sure what else to say. "If… if it makes you feel any better, I barely know my parents."

He stares straight ahead at the red light, hands still fastened onto the wheel tighter than necessary. "Really?"

"I haven't seen or spoken to them in, like, three years now. They weren't the most supportive parents, and we never saw eye-to-eye. Sometimes I would be sitting and eating dinner with them in front of the TV, and I'd feel like I was eating dinner with strangers." Her laugh is grim and poorly timed, but she lets it trickle past her lips anyway. "If you think I'm the prickliest porcupine you've ever met, well… they're on an entirely different level of prickly."

Johnny's reaction is lighter than she'd expected it would be, yet she welcomes it all the same. "I guess everyone's gotta have a sob story, huh?"

A smirk tugs at her mouth. "Yup. You're not alive if you don't have a depressing story to tell."

She stares out the window again. The city is peaceful today. Drivers and pedestrians navigate the streets in perfect harmony, and the sun's typical blinding summer brightness is toned down behind a few layers of clouds. The air conditioning in Johnny's truck is a gentle, cool breath on Ash's face. The smile that's been fighting to be seen overthrows her indifferent expression.

"Hey, how about we go to the ice cream place on Third Street?" she asks.

Johnny twists the wheel to the right, and with that she knows they're already on their way there.

Ten minutes later, the two of them are sitting at a small table just outside a tiny ice cream parlor. He has chocolate, she has strawberry. Ash is preparing to take another large bite out of the pink scoop when, literally from out of nowhere, he pulls out the most random of questions.

"Ash. Are we dating?"

Sigh. Talking with Johnny is like reaching into a grab bag of random topics and hoping for the best. You could discuss something innocent like the weather, or you could talk about the true meaning of life. (The answer to that: caffeine.) She resists doing a face-palm on her forehead. Serious and touchy subject it is, then.

"Do you think we are?" she shoots back. Might as well be difficult if he's going to be.

"I dunno." He swipes his tongue over the scoop, and it takes her a second to realize just how intently she's watching that tongue at work. She diverts her gaze to her own ice cream. "I… I guess we are?"

She has to back him up a little. "Woah, woah, woah. All we've done is kiss. No… hand holding, or meeting the parents—"

"Wrong," he interjects. "We held hands at the boardwalk last night, an' you just met my dad today."

"Yeah, but you were just grabbing my hand to pull me away from that asshole dog—"

" _Still_ counts."

Her eyes narrow. "When did you get so… sassy?"

The edge of his mouth quirks upward to form a harmless sneer. "Just go on wit' your 'Qualifications to Date' list."

"We haven't shared a bed."

He nods. "True."

"We still don't know all that much about each other."

"Now c'mon—"

"What's my middle name?"

He shuts his open jaw and lowers his raised finger. "… fair enough. But we _have_ cuddled, an' spent a lot of time together, an' been on a date."

Her heart jumps. "On a _date_?" she demands.

He taps the table with his hand. "Right now."

She starts to eat another mouthful of ice cream, but that's when the first wave of nausea hits. Her stomach feels like a stress ball being squeezed over and over again, and she leans away from the ice cream with an audible swallow. Johnny stares, concerned, in her direction. "Ash?"

"Uh… you can… you can finish the rest of my ice cream," she says. Before he can even protest, she shoves it into his hand and he now holds two half-finished cones.

"Since when do you not finish your food?"

"Since today," she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

She watches Johnny wolf down the rest of the ice cream that she had been planning to finish herself. And she'd really thought she had been getting better, too. _Guess not_ , she thinks glumly as she slumps even further in her chair.

"So are we decided, then?" he says after a few minutes. He's crunching through the chocolate cone. "You and I _are_ dating?"

Her answer doesn't arrive in words. Instead, she leans across the table to rest her hand on top of his. She feels his warm fingers stiffen, but she doesn't stop there. In full view of any passerby observant enough, she beckons him closer until they're nose to nose. The nausea dissolves for the moment.

"Ash?" He sounds so clueless, so cute.

She whispers, "You've got a little ice cream here" while motioning to her upper lip. When he starts to move a napkin to that area, she pushes it away and closes in. She presses her lips lightly and fully onto his, gliding her tongue along his top lip to get the chocolate residue. Even when her tongue is returned to her mouth, he wants more and intensifies the kiss, coming on stronger and applying more pressure. She meets him move for move, and they remain even during the entire event, matching each other and returning every nibble. She can see some people staring as they pass out of the corner of her eye. She doesn't mind the stares, but she closes her eyes completely anyway.

When they part, any trace of chocolate or strawberry flavor is gone. All she can taste is _him_ , that musky and extraordinary flavor that belongs only to him and it's better than any old scoop of ice cream. She doesn't leave without a parting moan into his mouth, and the pleasure that ripples through his body transfers over to her. If they weren't in broad daylight and out in public, she wouldn't have stopped there. Definitely not.

"Does that answer your question?" she asks, voice low and husky.

He's so speechless that all he seems capable of doing is a weak nod.

 **oo0oo**

Before long, Johnny learns something. When it's the two of them, they're boyfriend and girlfriend.

When it's the two of them plus anyone else, they're "just friends." Ash is adamant about this. After that one time at the ice cream parlor, there's no longer any public displays of affection. It drives Johnny a little insane, but he's at the stage where he'll do anything to keep the shaky Jenga tower known as their relationship standing.

The grand reopening of the Moon Theater was pushed back roughly a week or two, but today is the day when Buster cuts the ribbon. He wants everyone in the theater group to be there.

Johnny and Ash are the last two to show up. There's a decent sized crowd gathered on the front steps containing many familiar faces. She wriggles her hand out of his, and he puts on an overly wide smile of greeting. He's jostled away from her and ends up on the other side of Nana Noodleman, while she's stuck next to Ms. Crawly.

"Okay, everyone, this is it!" Buster exclaims. He has a large pair of scissors in his hands, and he's cradling the object like it's his firstborn. "We'll be back in the public eye for a bit. Maybe do a few interviews, and teasers for the upcoming concert. The lobby will be open to the public and selling tickets for upcoming shows."

Everyone is grinning and laughing with rosy cheeks and glittering eyes. The squid tanks high above are a brilliant blue that is accentuated by the vibrant neon colors of the squids within. Johnny drags his eyes back downward. There are some photographers crouched at the bottom of the steps, preparing their cameras. The crowd thickens as more animals mill about, almost all pairs of eyes cast on the brand new face of the beloved theater.

"You ready?" someone calls out. Buster yells back an affirmative.

Ash brought her guitar along today. Hell, Johnny would drag his piano out here if space allowed it, but now they're packed right into the heart of the bubbly mob and there's no escaping for a while.

The main photographer counts down from three. With each number, everyone squeezes in tighter.

A dazzling flash is met with equally dazzling smiles. And as Johnny faces the camera, he keeps her in his peripheral vision. The image of her raising that guitar proudly in the air, the biggest and brightest smile of all on that amazing face of hers, is burned permanently in his mind.

The last few weeks have been crazy. There's still some things left unsaid between them. Johnny knows that. Yet despite everything, in this moment on a sunny July morning, everything feels just right.


	8. Chapter 8

**I know, I know, this chapter is shorter than usual. And nothing all that special happens in this one. But I promise, the drama will be stirred up again come next chapter! I do have finals coming up soon, so the next update may be delayed. I'll have to see how it goes :/**

 **But anyways, thank you all a million times over for the love and comments! It always makes my day to read your thoughts on my story :D Love you all!**

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As soon as Buster cuts the ribbon, a wave of animals lunges forward toward the theater. People scramble to hold open the doors as countless souls pour into the lobby.

The theater group was ushered in first, and now they stand behind a long table set up in front of the grand doors concealing the cavernous room and stage.

There's a flash of gray and blue zooming all around the lobby, which could be no one else besides Buster making the rounds from one important figure to another. At one point he breezes past the group's table and shoves a pen into everyone's hands. Good thing he did, because not even fifteen seconds later there's a solid wall of fans demanding autographs.

Ash signs papers, napkins, outstretched paws and hooves, and even someone's back. When she marked the monkey's skin with her simple blocky handwriting, he proudly yelled, "I shaved my back just for this!"

It's insane and thrilling at the same time to suddenly be in the spotlight again. Ash almost has to wear sunglasses to shield herself from the new brightness, the smiling faces and gleaming eyes. It feels like seeing the sun again after a period of long, rainy days. It's a wonderful feeling.

Wonderful and, of course, stressful and mind-numbing. A lot of squealing girls sashay or sprint up to Johnny's table, many of them wearing low cut shirts and high cut shorts. Ash even spots a few girls tugging at their collars of their shirts in an effort to stretch it out and expose more fur or skin.

She's so distracted watching Johnny smile and chat with a group of girls around their age, she accidentally misspells her own name. And it happens to be on a guy's guitar.

"Oh, crap, I'm so sorry," she apologizes profusely as the guy examines her signature. He shrugs and walks away with "SAH" scribbled on his guitar. Ash face palms herself. Three letters. How hard is it to misplace _three_ letters? God, dammit. Her brain is like mush.

Around midday, the torrent of admirers thins out somewhat, and Ash is able to step back and collapse onto a foldable chair. Mike prances by with his arm linked in Nancy's, and he turns a smug smile onto Ash.

"Perk up, buttercup," he tells her. "It ain't over yet."

Ash scowls and leans forward to swat the mice away from the stacks of theater pamphlets sitting on top of the table. "Leave me alone!"

He straightens his little spine and holds his chin up higher. "That's the _best_ comeback you can come up with, Spiky?" His smooth voice transitions into a whiny, high-pitched tone. "' _Leave me alone! Ugh!_ '"

"I said to beat it!" Ash snaps. She picks up the pamphlet Mike is standing on, and he barely gets off in time. He watches the paper fly across the room and flutter to the ground by the open front doors.

"Damn." He lets out a low whistle. "Moody teenager strikes again." Mike jerks his head at Nancy, who slips her arm back into the crook of his elbow. "C'mon, babe. We'll have to let her… _simmer down_ a bit." And with that, they walk on down the table.

The fizzy anger throbbing in her fists settles a bit, and Ash feels exhaustion begin to set in. It's only one in the afternoon, and she's ready to sleep for a few years in a row.

The rest of the day slides by at a ridiculously slow pace. The last of the crowd doesn't trickle out until close to nine. By now, Ash could probably fall asleep standing up. She feels deader than a zombie as she gathers up the pamphlets and papers and pens. She organizes everything into neat piles because she has nothing better to do. She knows if she tried to sneak out now, Buster would reach out with an imaginary cane and yank her right back in.

After a sizeable period of silence broken only by giggles from Gunter and Rosita's gossiping, Buster calls for everyone to listen.

Their boss is standing on a box, the tufty gray fur on his head looking somewhat disheveled. Otherwise, he looks just as pristine as he did this morning. "Alright, everyone. You were all terrific today! And there's big news: I have set up a TV interview with Wendy Hopkins, slated for Thursday at eleven."

A collective groan erupts from every animal in the group except Rosita. The pig beams and claps her hooves together excitedly. "Oh, my gosh! I love Wendy, she's—"

"— one of the most famous TV personalities ever, yada, yada," Mike interrupts. "Of course _you_ , the middle-aged housewife, would like that Wendy chick." Rosita's face reddens out of anger at the term "housewife," but Mike rambles onward. "Moon, you can't seriously expect us to _enjoy_ being subjected to Wendy diving into our business? All she ever wants to know is who you're dating, who you have dated, all about your breakups, if you're engaged, if you're getting divorced, and blah, blah, blah. That rabbit is gonna open us up and dissect our personal lives like we're worms!"

There's a couple moments of stunned silence as they all process his rant. Mike isn't often one who uses many words to express his emotions.

"Well… I'm sorry, guys, but…" Buster winces and shrugs sheepishly. "This interview with Wendy will cement the theater's place as a point of interest in the coming months. Even with all of Nana Noodleman's help, it will still take some work to get back to where this theater once was. If all goes well, I can return to putting on smaller shows in between concerts."

Ms. Crawly smiles, her one real eye alight with excitement. "Oh, Mr. Moon, I do miss those shows you used to do."

Buster scratches behind one ear and shoots his assistant a wan smile. "Yes, Ms. Crawly. You did enjoy the shows that attracted a total audience of ten, didn't you?"

Soon after, Buster dismisses the group. Ash and Johnny end up being the last two to go. As they head through the doors, she sees a knowing glance directed at them from Buster. It makes her skin prickle, so she's quick to turn away and hurry down the rest of the steps.

"Woah, woah, what's the rush?" Johnny asks. He rests a hand on her left shoulder, and the tension in that entire half of her body melts away.

"I'm just tired," she mutters. She squints down the dark sidewalk in the direction of her apartment and sighs. "I'd rather sign a thousand more autographs than walk home in the dark."

Johnny squats down and squeezes her paws. "How 'bout I walk ya home, then?"

Ash slides her hands out of his, fear of any familiar eyes still lurking nearby making her nerves tingle. "I, uh… you don't have to do that, Johnny. It's really not a big deal—"

"No, I insist." He walks over to a nearby bicycle rack and begins messing with a chain attached to it. She watches him, confused, until he wrenches a skateboard free from the cold metal. "We could go slow…" he says, "… or we could go fast." He lifts the skateboard in a large hand and waves it dramatically. "Whataya think?"

"I think not," Ash tells him.

"Oh, c'mon," he tries. "It's not that—"

"Please, Johnny," she cuts in. Her tone has been rinsed and scrubbed free of any residue of humor or amusement. She feels like there's a set of sharp-toothed jaws gnawing at her insides. "I'd just like a nice, leisurely walk home. Is that okay?"

He doesn't try arguing again, just tucks the skateboard under one arm and matches her snail-like pace.

They walk with a wall of silence between them for quite some time. Ash keeps her head lowered and eyes fixed on the dirty sidewalk. She jumps when Johnny kicks a crumbled-up piece of trash out of their way.

"Sorry, Ash. Didn't mean ta scare ya," he says. A hint of deeper worry is clearly present among his words, but she refuses to acknowledge it.

They make it almost halfway back to her place without seeing any other people. There's the occasional car, of course, but this side of town is quieter once the sun goes down. It always has been. The two of them trudge along, alone with the night, and then she recognizes a figure approaching them.

Her glum stature is completely forgotten. Ash gropes in the darkness for Johnny's jacket sleeve, then pushes him into a tiny space between two buildings.

He doesn't protest, just grunts in surprise, as she crams them into the alley as far back as they can go. She looks out at the street with wide, panicked eyes as the dark silhouette comes closer, then stops.

Lance stands, illuminated in a dying streetlight. Some moths flutter around the flickering orange orb, their chattering suppressed when they see somebody bathing in their beloved light.

Ash can't tell if her ex had seen her and Johnny before they disappeared. She knows he has, unfortunately, when he goes right up to their hiding space.

Johnny's breathing is ragged and heavy against her back. One of her hands is encaged in his, and the other is shaped into a fist for self-defense. As Lance gets closer, she raises the fist higher.

"Lance—"

"I heard the theater reopened today. Congrats." His voice is monotone and betrays the spark of feeling in those green eyes. Ash can remember a time when those eyes were like a set trap, one she walked into willingly every time.

She doesn't reply, so he continues carefully. "I was, uh… just on my way in that direction. Thought maybe you might still be there." He reaches into his pocket, and there's a split second where alarm bells are going off in her head. It could be a knife, or a gun.

Mentally, she slaps herself. What the hell is she thinking? Lance was never violent towards her. He'd never forced her to do anything she didn't want to do intimately. He wouldn't kill her.

The panic is short-lived. In his hand, Lance holds a single quill. "This is yours. You gave it to me a while ago, and… well, I think it's about time you get it back."

He offers it to her, and she takes it haltingly.

"It was… nice seeing you last month." Lance dips his head. "Ash, I… I hope you have a nice life." There's a prolonged pause, then he murmurs, "A- and you don't have to go by Ash anymore if you don't want to." His eyes lock onto hers. "I know I told you to do it, but… I've always seen you as Ashlynn, too."

He slinks away, hands in his pockets as he turns a corner onto a side street and fades into the shadows.

Ash and Johnny emerge from their hideout. Both are quiet on the outside, but their minds are buzzing. She risks a glance up at him, trying to read his face, but he hasn't been as much of an open book lately as he used to be.

"So… your name's Ashlynn?" he finally says.

She groans, slumping against a dark storefront. "That's the first thing you say?"

"Well, it is surprising," he admits as he settles down next to her. "I guess I always thought you were… just Ash."

She doesn't reply. She's too focused on the quill in her hands. Pale brown and creamy white— it's definitely hers. She twirls it in her fingers and resists the urge to snap it in half.

"Do you want me to start calling you Ashlynn?" Johnny asks. His voice is soft, and tone completely serious.

"No." She gives a short, choppy laugh. "Please don't."

To her dismay, he goes on with the interview. "So y- you… gave 'im one o' your quills?"

"Yep," she says, popping the _p_. "It's a thing porcupines do, like as a gesture of love or admiration. They're our weapons, but they can also mean more than that." She runs the sharp object through her hand, gliding it along her skin carefully as if it were a knife. "I gave this to him on our first anniversary. He was supposed to give one back, then we'd twist them together, to symbolize our eternal love or stupid shit like that. He never did, though… said he wasn't ready." She cranes her neck to meet his gaze. She hates their difference in height, and wishes not for the first time that his face could be just a little closer to hers. Even when sitting, the gap is significant. "It sounds kinda dumb now, talking to another animal about it…"

"It's not dumb at all," Johnny assures her. "I think it's sweet."

She stretches her arm out, wrapping it behind his neck and pulling him down to her. "You're too kind."

"Is too much kindness a bad thing?" he counters.

Ash smirks. "Fair point." Then she presses her lips to his. The kiss is short lived, however, as a car suddenly speeds by with rap music blasting from its dark interior. The movement stirs up a bunch of litter, which then flies in their faces.

Johnny swipes a chocolate bar wrapper out of his face and helps her up. "Shall we get a move on, then?"

"Yeah, let's." She swallows, eyeing his skateboard and her guitar case. "How about we speed things up a little?"

He stiffens, obviously thinking she was implying something else, but then relaxes when he sees her nod to his skateboard. "Gladly," he tells her as he takes her hand.

 **oo0oo**

When Johnny finally returns to the garage, it's past ten thirty. And yet he's wide awake.

He paces around the large room, fingers embedded in his hair like they always are when he's stressed.

The skateboard ride back to Ash's place had been fun, albeit highly dangerous. He never usually wore a helmet or minded his own safety much; but with her on board, his entire perspective changed. He'd had one arm out for balance, and the other arm serving as a makeshift seatbelt over her chest. She'd been going back and forth from clutching his leg and shrieking for him to slow down, to reaching for her guitar case before it could fall from where it was balanced precariously on the front end. He had felt like they were riding a rollercoaster without the safety bar down, and he loved that thrill.

He wants to experience it again and again and again. And with nobody else but her.

Now, he is too exhilarated to even consider sleep. Thoughts cloud his mind like a swarm of bees.

Ash held his hand in public. Ash kissed him in public, again. Sure, it had been dark out in an empty street, but still! And the look she'd given him right before she entered her apartment…

He would give anything to see that gleam in her eyes again. She'd been the one to break off their goodnight kiss, but it had been like there was glue still binding them together. Every hair on his body had stood on end, a hazardous mixture of arousal and excitement making his palms sweat. Any remaining insecurity or anger he'd felt from seeing her ex was gone.

One second, he was staring into those glowing blue depths. And the next, she had slipped into the apartment and out of sight.

Johnny rummages through a drawer until he finds what he's looking for. He holds the fragile object in his hands and grins.

On the night of the big concert, when Ash's quills shot out at the audience, Johnny had gotten at least three lodged in his fur and jacket.

He kept one of them. While everyone else winced, complained, pulled out the spines, and discarded them onto the ground— he had slipped one into his pocket.

It's somewhat faded now, being over six months old. To him, it looks just as immaculate as it did on that night.

When Johnny finally does go to bed that night, he places the quill under his pillow and snuggles in close. The bed feels strangely empty without her nestled against him. Even though she's never been in this garage, and never been in this bed with him, it still feels like she has.

One day soon, he hopes to fill in the gap in his bed. He won't be able to last much longer without her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry ahead of time for any typos! I'll try to go back and fix them later. And just ahead of time, "Tigert" is the equivalent of the big-box store "Target." Man, I love that place.**

 **Also, am I the only one who pictures human AUs for Sing a little differently? Like I picture them as their voice actors. Tbh Scarlett and Taron would be the hottest couple, am I right or am I right?**

 **Sorry, I'm rambling again. I'll catch you guys later, thank ya'll so much for the love! I will never stop appreciating it :D**

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"You guys are on in five," a turtle wearing a headset tells the group a few days later. He's dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, but the snobby look on his face would pair far better with a fancy tuxedo.

"Okay, thank you," Rosita says when nobody else offers anything. The guy turns up his stubby nose in response and marches further backstage.

The theater family is abuzz with anticipation and/or anxiety. Ash's nerves are tiny balls bouncing under her skin, making her break a sweat. The uncomfortable dress she's currently sporting doesn't help any matters.

Rosita had insisted on going shopping "with the girls" on Tuesday afternoon. The sole purpose for that excursion was to find "suitable" outfits for the interview.

To Ash, "suitable" meant one of her less ragged striped shirts and _maybe_ a skirt with a few more frills.

To Rosita, "suitable" equated to, well, _not_ that. Shopping with the mother pig was like a complicated math problem: so many factors (dress length and color, the type of neckline, the pattern, sequins or no sequins) and numbers (the price tag) to consider. When it all came down to it, however, the solution was simple: a twenty-dollar mid-length dress from the sales rack at Tigert.

Meena had been more agreeable, because she's never been one to hate clothes shopping. In the end she chose a dress similar to Ash's that is just the tiniest bit more formal. Rosita had dropped the largest bundle of cash on her dress, which was white and looked more like a wedding gown than anything. Ash would kill to see just how far Norman's eyes bugged out of his head when he saw _that_ receipt.

Now there's less than two minutes to go. Buster is pacing furiously at the front of the group, working his furry fingers into some kind of intricate weaving. Eddie is matching his boyfriend's quick steps, repeatedly placing a hoof on the koala's shoulder only for it to be shrugged off with a "I'm fine, Ed, just thinking."

Ash glances around at the rest of the group. Mike is resting against a chair leg a few feet away, eyes narrowed as he chats loudly on the phone with Nancy. Rosita and Meena are talking quietly with their foreheads practically pressed together in an effort to keep the conversation private. Gunter is eyeing himself in a mirror, continuously adjusting his sequin-laden suit. Ash wonders where the pig found a purple glittery suit; unless he made it himself, and she wouldn't put it past him to do that.

Last but not least, Johnny is standing nearby her, thumbs stuck in his pockets as he rocks back and forth on his heels. Suddenly his gaze darts over in her direction, and the beginnings of a smirk make a corner of his mouth curl upward. Her skin prickles and she averts her eyes.

"You guys ready?" The turtle appears again, waving a clipboard in their faces. There's a _click_ as Mike snaps his ancient flip phone closed. Buster quits his pacing and smooths out any wrinkles in his suit. Gunter beams and strikes a pose, while Rosita nods eagerly. A loud gulp can be heard from Meena, who is visibly trembling as if they're standing in a middle of an arctic tundra. And Ash…

She's as ready as she can be.

"Alright, go, go, go!" Mr. Turtle Dude urges them forward.

Wendy Hopkins greets the group— minus Eddie, who only came for moral support— as they take their seats in plush armchairs. Ash squints out at the sea of black that is supposedly the audience, but the stage lights are too bright to make out much of anything. The only evidence of there being a crowd is the applause.

 _How is it possible_ , Ash thinks, _for a foreign stage to feel so… weird?_ The stage at the Moon theater is almost an exact copy of the original one, save for a few renovations and minor adjustments to bring it up to code. That stage is home to her. Since the big concert, any other small gig hasn't felt the same— any other stage is odd, to say the least. Especially when she won't even be performing on it, like today.

Ash takes a moment to get a good look at Wendy. She's seen her before on women's magazine covers, but of course those are never the type of magazines Ash reaches for on the shelves. Wendy is on the smaller side for a rabbit, probably a little shorter than Ash when she doesn't have heels on. She has downy white fur and a feathery purple boa on, something too sickeningly extravagant for Ash's taste. She can see Gunter eyeing the ugly garment hungrily.

"Today I welcome to my stage… the Moon theater phenomenons!" Wendy says as she flashes them an award-winning smile. "Now, let's get right to it: just what are you guys planning to dazzle us with next?"

Buster leans forward in his chair, ears perked and eyes glowing. Any uneasiness he'd exhibited just minutes ago has been washed away by his boundless love for being on a stage.

"Well, Wendy, we actually have quite an exciting show planned for you all—"

"Another concert?"

"Yes, it sure is. And the twist is that it will be all duets." Buster sits back so he can wave an arm at the other six. "Can you guess who is paired with who?"

He's pushed the right button for Wendy. She squeals and tosses the ugly boa over her shoulder as she looks past Buster. Ash can almost feel the pain from Wendy's gaze raking over her.

"Hmm… lemme see… how about the dynamic duo from your first concert— Rosita and Gunter?" Wendy tries.

Buster gives a lopsided grin. "You'll have to see!"

The rabbit scans over the remaining four. "You'd think Meena and Johnny would be paired together, y'know? I would _love_ to hear those voices work together in perfect harmony."

Now the stage lights seem brighter than the broiling sun outside. Ash squints down at her lap. Stage lights have never bothered her before. So why are her cheeks so hot?

"So… that would leave… Mike and Ash?"

Meena exchanges a glance with Johnny, while Mike begins laughing. Loudly.

"Oh, sweetheart," the mouse snorts, "you can bet if I was paired up with the porcupine, I'd already be impaled on one of her quills by now." Mike inclines his head and grins while Wendy unleashes an obnoxious titter. "Isn't that right, Spikes?"

On stage. In front of an audience. Ash isn't one to be easily embarrassed, but this is too far even for her. "Mike," she hisses through gritted teeth. The recording camera lens in front of them is like a single, glaring eye. Her throat trembles around a swallow. She bites her tongue instead of saying _"I'll impale you right now with my fist."_

Oh, what she would give to cream that little white fur ball into mouse paste…

After that, Wendy smoothly transitions to their personal lives. She pokes and prods Buster all the way out of the closet, which incites a gasp from the invisible audience. He doesn't tell _who_ he's dating out of respect for Eddie, though it's clear as day that Buster would gladly scream to the heavens who his boyfriend is.

And, as much as Ash hates to admit it, that's one of the cutest things ever.

Wendy moves on down the line, giving Rosita a hard time first:

"Rosita Lansdale, an icon for hardworking mothers everywhere. Tell me, Rosita, how do you balance home and theater life?"

Rosita smiles graciously. "It's not an easy feat, Wendy, but my husband takes time off work now and—"

"We've heard you're raising twenty-five children. Is that true?"

"Yes—"

"Do you plan on having any more?"

Rosita's already rosy cheeks are now colored in with blotches of red. She nibbles her lip and shakes her head quickly. "N- no, I don't think—"

Wendy strikes her next victim, swifter than a rattlesnake. "Mike, rumor has it that you're _engaged_ to your girlfriend Nancy Monroe…"

"Woah, woah, where did you—"

Then it's "Gunter, I am absolutely _obsessed_ with your tale of woe maintaining a long-distance relationship…"

"Tanks you, Wendy, eet ees—"

Then she strikes a nerve. "Johnny, Meena, Ash. It's no secret that the three of you are all good friends now, am I right?"

Just for once, Ash wishes she _wasn't_ right, just so that kooky grin of hers could turn upside down.

"Yeah," Johnny answers for them. "We are."

"But is there something more between two of you? Something _beyond_ friendship, something ultra-juicy two of you are hiding from the rest of us?" Wendy's brown eyes are huge as they shift from the adults in the group then back to the three youngest. "Perhaps something even others in your group don't know about?"

Ash wonders if this bunny feeds on gossip. If they told her something boring, would she starve? Hopefully so.

Besides, it's like Wendy just read right out of a storybook detailing Johnny and Ash's relationship. Beyond friendship, ultra-juicy— _cringe_ — something more the others don't know about. A _secret_. She should already know that she knows.

And yet… her beady little eyes aren't even on Ash. They're flicking back and forth between Johnny and Meena. Meena! It feels like there are flames licking at Ash's cheeks, they're so hot.

"No," she speaks up before she can stop herself. "Nope. We're all just really good friends." Ash shrugs limply, as if her shoulders are suspended on puppet strings. "Not every friendship needs to be complicated by romance, so we're choosing not to go down that path. Why muddy the waters?" She finishes off the lie with a smile that ends up looking more like a pained grimace. Oh well, she tried. Good enough.

And there's dead air. Wendy is hesitating, her focus still primarily on Meena and Johnny, probably hoping they'll pipe up and discredit everything Ash just said. But they don't, and Ash sends a silent thank-you to the deities.

Wendy pauses for so long, in fact, that the dead air goes right up to commercial. It was maybe only five or ten seconds long, but to everyone on stage it felt like ten minutes.

"Oh!" Wendy startles when she notices the indicator for them to go to commercial. "We'll be right back in a few minutes with our next guest, talented singer and equal rights advocate, Gazelle!"

The moment the camera is off, Ash relaxes. Then, not even ten seconds later, she tenses up again.

This feeling as become an annoyingly familiar one over the past few weeks. Her back gets stiff as a board, and her muscles become hard as rock. The entire world seems to freeze around her.

"I'll be right back!" she calls over her shoulder, already halfway off the stage. She can see the world-famous pop star Gazelle getting her makeup touched up not even ten feet away, but Ash doesn't even bat an eyelash. There's no time.

She spends the next five minutes coughing up her guts into a cold white porcelain bowl. Luckily, nobody comes knocking on the door until the evidence is flushed away.

"Ash, honey? Are you doing okay?"

It's Rosita. Ash clutches the sides of the toilet, her brow furrowed as she tries to figure out why she's surprised. Of course Rosita would be the one to check on her; she proudly claimed her title of "group mom" long ago.

"I'm… I'm fine," Ash replies. Her words are weak, stumbling off her tongue. The porcupine lifts herself to her feet and stands on her toes to see in the mirror. The taste in her mouth is nothing compared to her awful appearance; already her eyeshadow has gotten smudged, and some mascara has migrated down her cheek. _Fuck mascara,_ she grumbles to herself.

"No, you're not," Rosita argues. Pause, then "Ash, let me in."

Who knew Rosita could be so defiant? Reluctantly Ash unlocks the door and twists the knob. The older female pushes her way in, and it takes maybe three seconds for Ash to fall apart. She rushes forward into Rosita's arms, soaking the lower half of her dress with tears. Clearly the pig doesn't know how to return the embrace without getting an armful of sharp quills; so she ends up resting her hooves comfortingly on Ash's shoulders.

"What's wrong with me?" Ash blubbers. "I- I've felt like pure _shit_ for almost a month, a- and I'm so _sick_ of it!"

Rosita holds the smaller animal close, cradling her like she's one of her own children. Yet Ash's problem isn't a fight with a sibling over the last cookie, or a skinned knee. It goes beyond that, into territory Rosita wishes she didn't have to venture into with someone barely who is barely an adult.

"Ash, sweetheart. Look at me," Rosita says gently. She nudges Ash's chin upward, and the porcupine sniffs loudly.

"Am I dying?" she whispers.

"No. You're not dying."

Ash gathers the heather grey fabric of her dress in her fists. "Then what's wrong with me?"

Rosita hates the mere idea of suggesting the possibility to her. Ash doesn't deserve an unnecessary burden of her shoulders, especially if there's really no burden to bear at all. But the symptoms… Rosita's heard Ash getting sick in the bathroom at the theater for a while now. And Meena told her recently how she turned up her nose at her favorite type of pizza. And they've all seen Ash popping aspirin pills for headache relief.

She remembers all too well when she found out she was going to be a mother. She'd ran home from the doctor and straight into Norman's embrace. They'd been young then, making ends meet by living in a small apartment tucked into the heart of the city. It was before her husband had the purple bags tattooed under his eyes from endless days of work.

He vowed to work harder for their expanding family. And he did. Meanwhile, she quit her job as a receptionist in a dentist's office— it was supposed to be an in-between thing before she made it big as a singer, _pfft_ — and went house hunting. It hadn't taken long to find their perfect blue house in the suburbs.

Her dreams went down the drain that day. She doesn't regret having her children, of course— never would she regret her beautiful babies. Besides, six months ago she grabbed a plunger and sucked her dreams right back to the surface. She's happy again.

But it wouldn't be so easy for Ash. Rosita was twenty-five when she found out she was going to be a mom. Not _nineteen_. People would talk, people would judge…

And nobody deserves that.

Ash is still gazing up at her with watery and mournful blue eyes. What can she possibly tell her?

"Ash… I'm telling you this as a concerned mother, but also as a concerned friend," Rosita begins slowly, as Ash nods. "Is there a chance you could be… expecting?"

Ash frowns. "Expecting what? Certain doom?"

"No," Rosita says patiently. There's a tinge of nervousness to her words that sets Ash on edge. "I mean… I mean… is there a chance you might be… _pregnant_?"

Again, the world stops around her. Maybe even the planet stops rotating for a moment. Ash doesn't even feel the pressure of Rosita's hands wrapped around her forearms anymore. She does feel her jaw unhinge and drop, while a look of terror overtakes her features.

It can't be.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny stares into the mirror in the narrow hallway backstage. It feels like the tie around his neck is choking him, and desperately he slides his fingers under the stubborn cloth, tugging at it. It takes a few hard yanks to loosen it enough for him to be able to breathe again.

Ash just ran off the stage like there was a stampede hot on her heels. Gazelle is now on the stage getting, in Mike's words, "dissected" by Wendy. Johnny didn't even have the strength to drool as the popstar walked past him, like most other boys do.

He's too worried. No, actually, scared. The alarm has flooded him, spreading like a wildfire through his nervous system. His spine is tingling and his fingertips are fizzing.

He can't rest until he sees Rosita and Ash emerge from another back hallway. The mother pig had insisted on going to check on her, sweeping up her overly-fancy gown and going on her way. The entire time the two were gone, Meena had been having an anxious one-sided conversation with Johnny. His only input was the occasional grunt or nod.

But, now, she's back. Johnny rushes forward perhaps a bit too ardently.

"Ash? Are you okay? What 'appened?"

She looks oddly… fine. Something still seems off. It's like she's wearing a mask.

Rosita has had an arm over the porcupine's shoulders, but she removes it now and walks away to give the three youngest friends some space.

"I'm okay," Ash mumbles. "Just… got a little overwhelmed, y'know? Wendy comes on… strong. Too giggly for my taste." She tilts her head, briefly holding eye contact with Johnny and Meena before dropping her gaze again.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Meena asks.

"I promise you, I'm fine. Just feeling kinda 'bleh' today. You know how it is. Just one of those days." Ash heaves a deep breath and gives Johnny a light shove on his arm. What was supposed to be a painless nudge, however, sends him reeling a few feet backwards.

Ash arches her brow. Her eyes look almost glazed. "What's up with _you_ , big guy? You look like you just saw a ghost. Or Moon drinking decaf tea. Both would be equally surprising."

Johnny shakes his head. The words _"you're lying to me"_ are jumping at the bottom of his throat, willing to be set free. But he swallows them.

"Nah, just… it's nothin'."

Ash blinks solemnly at him. "Okay. Good."

The next day is a Friday, which is always the day of the week when Meena brings in some baked goods. Yet today, she shows up empty-handed.

"I'm sorry," Meena says as she shrugs sheepishly. "I ran out of flour."

"The Pearson household running out of flour? That should be a crime," Ash says. She's shuffling past them on her way to the rehearsal rooms as she says this, and Johnny barely gets a chance to see her face.

Things go downhill from there.

Ash is ankle-deep in music sheets when Johnny arrives in their room. She drops an expletive then bends to pick up the papers.

"Lemme help ya," Johnny tells her. He crouches to join her, and purposefully reaches for papers near where she is so they can brush hands.

Eventually he captures her smaller hand in his and pulls it up to between their chests. A softened grin slides onto his features. Then he rests his hand on her back and sweeps her into a kiss.

She squirms away pretty fast, letting out a breath as she smooths her skirt. "Not now. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh." He sits back, absently reaching for a stack of papers and thumbing through them. "Aight."

"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I just… it— it's not a good time."

He wonders what qualifies as "a good time."

"Do you just… wanna sing, then?" he asks.

She nods so hastily, he's surprised her neck doesn't snap. She reaches for her guitar in the mess of papers and begins playing the first few chords of "Rollercoaster."

He clears his throat and gets ready to hop in at his cue. Her part is first, and for those few lines he's mesmerized. He's lost in her gentle voice, mild and breezy as she coasts from one line to the next. He's so caught up in the essence of _her_ , he nearly misses his cue to join in.

" _…_ _and every time I tell myself to go, somethin' makes me love, love you even more. It's like I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps goin', goin' on…_ " He trails off, the next verse dying on his lips. It takes her a second to realize he's no longer with her, and the music comes to an abrupt halt.

"You alright?" she asks.

Johnny looks at her for a while until he gives a resigned sigh and shakes his head. As a result, she shifts closer to him, concern etched onto her expression along with a million other unidentifiable emotions.

"What is it?"

"Ash, I'm… I'm not alright. Not if you aren't."

"Oh." She lets out a grim chuckle. It's so like her yet so unlike her. "So I guess that means you're _not_ okay."

And she caves into him. Her body melts into his, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. He embraces her and keeps her close the entire time. When a violent wail escapes her, it's a noise he was unaware she could make. A couple of quills inadvertently shoot out, and one jabs him in the cheek. He doesn't even register the pain.

By the time she's recovered enough to speak, her breathing is still labored. She glances up at him with the same tear-glazed look as yesterday that he hadn't recognized yet. She plucks the spine from his face and shakes her head slowly.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do, Johnny…"

He has no idea what she is talking about. But he's with her all the same. "It'll be okay, Ash." He plants a kiss on her forehead. "I'm here."


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow, ten chapters! It's honestly a miracle I've made it this far, usually half of my stories don't make it more than twenty pages. But it is all thanks to you guys! If it weren't for your support and your comments, this story never could've reached its one-month birthday.**

 **Big thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed, and all my gratitude goes to Midnightsliverwolf (love your profile pic BTW!), TMNTGFKittySidekick01, lalaynahop, Something stuff, LuSilveira, C. J Robbins, TheWinterMe, all the Guests, Trash, BunniesAreNotCookies, MagicalKitsune, and Albatross Zeta for leaving one or more reviews! I cannot express fully how happy it makes me to read your thoughts on this. I know I'm getting cheesy and over the top here, so I'll stop now. But really, thank ya'll a million times over :"D**

 **This chapter was weird for me to write. I guess it's just a twist in the storyline making me a little unsteady on my feet yet. Nevertheless, enjoy!**

* * *

When Ash walks into the bus station, the first thing she hears is a disembodied voice.

 _Her_ disembodied voice.

It's distorted and muffled, crackling through a dusty speaker in the ceiling.

 _"When you set it all free, all free, all free…_ "

The next thing she notices is how dingy the place is. There's a few orange and green chairs to the left, paint chipped and legs uneven. A humming vending machine at the right flickers in and out of darkness; one stale bag of chips with an expiration date of two years ago glows orange when the light works.

She pulls her leather jacket tighter around her and joins the line in front of the desk.

" _I was a girl caught under your thumb…_ "

She fishes a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket and throws them on.

" _But my star's gonna shine brighter than your sun…_ "

The line inches forward. She prays not to be recognized.

By the time she gets to the front, her song is gone and replaced with Mike's crooning. She had realized a few minutes ago that, to her horror, the stupid bus station was playing the five-song collection of everyone's hits from the big concert. In January, Buster had shoved everyone into a recording studio to sing the full versions of their songs. The singles were then released on a combo CD and online.

Again, Ash wishes she hadn't let Buster drag her into that cursed studio.

"Where to, miss?" The bored beaver behind the glass has the personality of a rock, and right now Ash couldn't be more grateful for that.

"Yeah, um. One ticket for an adult to Cheetah Rapids, Iowa." At his prompt, she slides her ID under the tiny slot in the glass window.

"Round-trip or one way?"

Ash closes her eyes and steels herself. Making this decision is like standing at a fork in the path of her life. Once she's traveled too far in one direction, it'll be difficult to turn back.

"One way," she says, and hands over the money.

She doesn't have to spend much more time in that dingy bus station. After suffering through fifteen more minutes at the place— and convincing herself not to cave and buy those stale chips— she boards the bus and doesn't look back.

It's an overcast day, and not really the type of day that necessitates sunglasses. But she keeps them on anyway, because they'll at least hide the puffy redness and smeared makeup.

Ash still doesn't know for sure _what_ her condition is. But how could Rosita possibly be wrong? She's been through this at least three times— she's basically the second-best opinion after a doctor.

And so Ash needs to get away. She's not sure what she'll do once she arrives back in her hometown. But she'll figure it out somehow.

Hours pass at the speed of days. Ash considers keeping tally marks on the window. When the bus shudders to a halt and puffs out exhaust weakly like a final breath, Ash is the first to disembark.

She's… home. Right? She could call this home. It was where she spent the first sixteen years of her life.

The bus station here is in even worse disrepair than the one back in Calatonia, so she only gives it a one disdainful look over before moving on.

A more appropriate name for Cheetah Rapids would be "Porcupine Rapids." The town is swimming with short-statured spiny mammals just like Ash. It doesn't take her long to remember one of her reasons for leaving this place: zero diversity. Any other species present is most definitely a tourist.

And yet, as much as Ash misses the diversity of Calatonia, she has to admit how nice it is to blend in for once. Even so, the sunglasses stay on.

Her first stop is the city hall. She can recall her parents' address, stored somewhere in the dusty recesses of memory, but she looks them up just in case.

Yep. Same place. 53 Hedge Avenue, also known as the dullest street on the planet.

Ash walks up the familiar front steps and lays a couple firm knocks on the porcupine-sized door.

Seconds later, the door creaks open.

"Hey, Mom," Ash mumbles, giving a cautious wave. "Long time no see."

There's silence. Then the older porcupine lunges forward and fastens a grizzled hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Ashlynn May Woods. Where the _hell_ have you been?"

Ash teeters on the top step. "Um, well, let me in, and I'll tell you."

Her mother leans back and calls into a room to the left. "Brian, get your fat ass up and get over here! You won't believe who's bothered to come show her face after three years." She turns back and spits at Ash's feet. "You ain't no daughter of mine 'til I hear why you left us outta nowhere." She yanks Ash by the shoulder and slams the door shut, blocking all light.

Inside, it's the same dark, rundown shack Ash remembers growing up in. Her father Brian is in the living room in a broken recliner, surrounded by mountains of crumpled-up fast food wrappers. Her mother gives her another shove so that she's standing right next to the grimy television set.

"Hi, Dad," she says meekly.

The graying porcupine shifts up in his chair and narrows his eyes at her. They're still the same shade of blue that mirrors Ash's. "Humph," he grunts before sitting back and reaching for the remote.

"Now, Brian," Ash's mother marches forward to stand in front of the TV. "I told you to get off your ass and listen to what she has to say."

"It'll just be more of her goddamn excuses," Brian sighs as he leans to the left in the hopes of seeing a strip of TV screen. "She ain't got nothing left to tell us."

Hearing that is like a punch in the gut. Ash can feel herself start to keel over, yet somehow she forces her backbone to stay rigid. "Mom, Dad, I came here because I'm… I'm in some trouble."

"Oh, would you listen to that, Val! Now Ashlynn's got herself in trouble with the law. I told you it was gonna happen, but did you believe me?" Brian slammed the TV remote down on his knee in frustration. "Nope!"

Val spins back around to face Ash. "If you would just take off those damn sunglasses"— Ash obliges— "and tell us why you're back here to burden us again."

Ash swallows. "I'll just get a hotel—"

"No, you came to us and you're staying here. Brian, _up_! If I have to tell you again I'll pull out every one of your quills, one at a goddamn time."

A few minutes later, they're situated at the tiny kitchen table. Ash is practically grinding her teeth into a pulp, feeling uncomfortable under the laser-like stares of her parents. Something in her mind suggests small talk, and foolishly she accepts it.

"So… I see you still have the same old TV, Dad," she mumbles.

"Sure do," Brian replies tartly. "Dunno if I ever told you this, but I _was_ saving up to buy a new television what was it, nineteen years ago?" A vicious smirk appears on his face. "And then _you_ were born, and my entire TV budget went toward you. Damn shame."

Ash lowers her head as she feels her stomach twist. Rosita's words echo again in her mind, and her heart pounds. "I'm sorry," she says. "But it's not my fault for being born."

"And it ain't _my_ fault you're such a damn sass," Brian spits back.

"What've you been doing with your life anyway?" Val demands. She gets up and begins to move about the cramped kitchen, reaching in the freezer and plopping something into the microwave. When she plugs in a few numbers into the rusty appliance, it starts up with a reluctant _screeeeech_.

"I'm a singer," Ash tells them.

"A singer?" her mother scoffs. "What are you singing, jingles for the local car dealership?"

Ash winces at the grating sound of the microwave. "No, I have a single out and I'm employed at a… prestigious theater out in Los Angeles."

"Right," Val says. Her tone makes it clear she has no faith in Ash's statement. "And how does this 'single' of yours go?"

"Allow me," Ash says as she bends over to retrieve her guitar case, "to demonstrate."

For some reason, her parents sit through the entirety of "Set It All Free." She plays her guitar gently like an acoustic, and the song doesn't sound half-bad at a lower decibel. It's like going back to her very early stages of writing it. When she's done, they sit silent for several long moments. The microwave's horrible scraping is the only noise.

Then her father goes, "Well, holy shit. You really _can_ sing."

"Whatever happened to all that emo crap you used to do covers of in your room?" Val laughs. "That sounded like velociraptor screeching."

That is a very familiar insult. Now Ash realizes why she locks horns with Mike so much. He's like a younger and much smaller version of her mother all wrapped up in a furry, white, fedora-wearing package.

Val pulls out a bubbling container of mac and cheese from the greasy depths of the microwave oven. She carries the thawed frozen dinner over to the table and pulls out two plates from the cupboard. It takes a second for it to sink in to Ash that she isn't getting fed.

"Mom, could I please have some?"

"No, Ashlynn. How can you possibly be starving? If anything, you look like you've gained weight." Her mother settles into a chair and pulls a heaping forkful to her mouth. "If you must open that pretty lil' mouth of yours, then put your voice to good use and _sing_."

They don't hate her singing. Ash relaxes a little bit. The insult about her weight stings and terrifies her at the same time, but as long as her singing is fine, then she can deal with her parents. At least for now.

Maybe leaving Calatonia isn't the worst idea she's come up with. She pulls her guitar back into her lap and ignores her churning stomach. There are other worries she can get to later.

For now, she'll do what she can do best.

 **oo0oo**

The buildings around Johnny are a blur. It's like a giant squirted different paint colors onto his thumb, then smeared them over the landscape.

He's never skateboarded this fast before, not even with Ash. He isn't sure what exactly is tossing in extra vigor into his step today. But what he is sure of is that he needs to get to the theater as soon as possible.

Ash didn't show up to the theater yesterday. Or the day before that, or the day before that. Rosita's comforting statement was "She's probably just sick," but that expired when Buster informed them she hadn't called in to say that.

Johnny careens around a corner, grabbing a wooden post as the turn briefly spins out of control. He saves himself from sailing right into the middle of traffic and continues along the street.

He went to her apartment yesterday and knocked on the door again and again until his knuckles were screaming in agony. He's still amazed they didn't bleed.

 _Knock, knock._ No answer. _Knock, knock._ Nothing. _Knock, knock, knock!_ Where is she?

For the love of all things good, pure, and holy, where the _fuck_ is that porcupine?

This situation is made worse by the hurricane of conflicting emotions currently ravaging her mind. For all Johnny knows, she could've done something drastic. She could've really hurt herself.

Johnny would turn his skateboard toward the busy four-way intersection he just passed, if it meant he could obtain a key into Ash's place. If he had to bludgeon himself to death using his body to bust down her door, he sure as hell would. The worry for her, his girl, that is consuming him at this moment is fiery enough to burn down a hundred forests.

Jeez, he should really write these thoughts down.

When he arrives at the theater, the entire group minus Ash is gathered on the stage. Their voices are hushed whispers that fail to travel to Johnny's ears through the cavernous room.

The gorilla tosses his skateboard to the side and rushes up the steps to the others.

"What is it? Do you know where she is?" he demands.

Slowly they all turn to face him. Even Mike looks perturbed. Rosita, however, has the most upset look out of everyone.

"What?" Johnny asks.

"Johnny…" Rosita takes a deep breath. "I know you're worried about Ash. She's your best friend, and Meena's, so of course you would be. We're scared for her, too. I just don't know where she is."

 _Best friend._ Those two words are like a scalding hot burn. His cheek tingles as if he's been slapped. Ash is _more_ than that now. He knows Rosita didn't mean it as an insult, but it feels like one nonetheless.

"But I think I might know why she's gone."

"You do?" Johnny leaps forward and wraps his longer fingers around Rosita's arms.

"It's not my place to tell you," Rosita says, treading carefully, "but I swear I will use my knowledge to the best of my ability. We will find her, Johnny. And if we don't find her by tonight, we can report her missing to the police."

Eddie's frown deepens. "Have you all tried contacting her in every way possible? Cellphone, e-mail, snail mail… does she have a landline?"

Gunter rests his hooves on his wide hips, glittery tracksuit blinding under the glare of the stage lights. "Wat year do you think eet ees, Eedie? 1982?"

Buster shakes his head swiftly. "No nineteen-year-old has a landline phone."

Johnny stops listening to the brooding adults for a moment and steps away. He produces his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. He jabs his finger repeatedly against the screen until he comes to Ash's contact. He hits the green call button and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He's never despised that stupid ring tone more than right now. Johnny only stays on the line so he can hear her voicemail message. Her voice is like music to his ears, even when she's not repeating lyrics.

" _Hey, Ash here. I guess you missed me this time around, but you can call me back soon and hopefully I'll pick up. Catch you later._ "

He slides his phone back into a random pocket and rejoins the group, utterly lost.

Much later that day, it's well past ten p.m. and Johnny is slumped in the corner of his and Ash's rehearsal room. When the door creaks open, he doesn't pay any attention at first to the newcomer.

"Johnny?"

He glances up. It's Meena. She's approaching him cautiously, as if he's an active volcano or gone rabid. Her large ears fold in toward her face to cover her eyes.

"Yes, Meena?"

His friend slides down against the wall and collapses next to him. "I don't know what to do."

"I don't know either." He runs his hands over his face and rubs his irritated eyes. Every time he blinks, it feels like the insides of his eyelids are made of sandpaper scraping at his corneas. "She's never pulled an act like this before."

"I just hope she's okay…"

"And what is Rosita hidin', anyway? What secret is so important between them that she can't tell us?"

"I- I'm not sure," Meena tells him. It takes him a second to notice she's trembling.

"Ah, c'mere." He drapes his jacket around her shoulders. Today was a brisk day for July— yet even if it were a hundred degrees today, it's doubtful Johnny would shed his precious leather. He treats it like a fragile second skin.

Neither speak for a while. The silence is oddly comforting to Johnny, wrapping around him like a warm blanket. He's so immersed in this blanket that he doesn't notice Meena rest her head on his shoulder.

"Johnny."

"Yeah?"

"I- I've been wondering something for a while now… a- and I was hoping you could put my worries to rest," Meena begins. The shaking of her body transfers to her voice, and her words stumble over each other clumsily.

Johnny dips his head. "Okay, what's up?"

Meena squeezes her eyes shut. "Are you and Ash…" She interlaces her toes a few times for emphasis. "… l- like, are you two a… a thing?"

"Oh." He curls his fingers into fists. "How… how did you… how did you guess?"

She lifts her head away from him to look in his eyes. He wishes the blue in her eyes could be as vibrant as Ash's, but the shade of Meena's gaze only pales in comparison.

"You're going crazy worrying about her. I mean, have you even slept the past few nights?" At his headshake _no_ , she goes on. "And I… heard you two a little while ago." She points to the windowless wall facing her and Mike's rehearsal room. "Mike was out, so I was alone. I heard… noises. Through that wall."

A hot blush spreads fast, searing Johnny's face like a hot iron. He hides his face behind his hands. "I'm so sorry, Meen. That was… inappropriate of us."

"No, no, don't worry about it." The elephant tugs at her ears, then gulps audibly. "But just to make sure… you guys w- weren't… doing anything more, right? L- like it was just…"

"Yeah." Johnny scratches the back of his neck. "Just kissin', I swear." _More like making out passionately on the floor in the middle of a mess of music sheets, and in full view of any passerby looking hard enough,_ he thinks to himself. Luckily it's not too difficult for him to hold the words back.

"Okay." Meena nibbles on her lip. Then, to his surprise, she reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze. "That's good to hear."

"It is?"

"That makes me even more determined to find her." The beginnings of a grin peek out from behind her trunk. "I can't have my two best friends in the world be apart."

Johnny lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Relief overwhelms him, and for the first time in three days, he smiles.


	11. Chapter 11

**Yes, this is a lame short chapter, I know. But next chapter will be better. I had major writer's block and had some trouble getting through this one. Next will be more dialogue and action. Some *things* will happen. You'll see :)**

* * *

Ash is woken early a few mornings later by a ringing noise.

A _loud_ ringing noise. The sound is so horrible, it's like she's rubbing a cheese grater against her ear canal.

The oh-so-lovely noise is her phone. She left the stupid device under her pillow— a fatal flaw in the sciences of sleep, according to professionals— and now the damn thing is going off at… wait, what time even is it?

She sits up on one elbow and squints at the bedside clock. It's 11:13 AM. Okay, not that early.

Yet still _way_ too early.

Now she picks up her phone, and it's no surprise when she sees who is calling her.

Her contact picture for Johnny isn't the most flattering of images. It was one she captured during a leisurely day at the theater.

 _"Ash! Get back 'ere!" Johnny lunges forward at her, but his balance is so off that the lunge turns into a wobbly, one-legged pose. "Gimme back my shoe, dammit!"_

 _She giggles, skirting around a box of props. She has one of his dark blue Converse tucked under one arm, her phone held up in her other hand. It's on the camera app, set to record every desperate movement he makes._

 _He's hot on her heels— so hot, in fact, she can feel his puffs of breath on her back and— oh. He's caught her._

 _She dangles from his grasp like a piece of lint. She thrashes desperately, keeping the shoe firmly nestled in the crook of her arm. "Holy shit, Johnny, put me down!"_

 _"Only if you gimme my shoe back," he counters._

 _Her feet seem so high above the ground, it's insane. She swings her legs and shakes viciously, hoping maybe that will jostle a few quills loose. But nothing works. His fingers are still holding fast to her shirt thanks to some sort of invisible glue._

 _She holds her phone high, framing his face on the screen. "Say cheese, big guy!"_

 _There's a dazzling flash that sends him reeling. As a result, she's dropped back on the floor. Ash scrambles to her feet and races back to their rehearsal room, slamming the door shut behind her._

 _She scrolls swiftly to her photos app and scrutinizes her loot of embarrassing pictures and videos. It's like a goddamn gold mine of Johnny pictures. She zooms in on one and examines it closely._

 _He's running fast in this one… so fast that… the edge of his shirt is flying upward— is that a hint of abs?_

 _Yeah, she's gonna have to keep that one. Ash smirks as she moves that particular photo to a private folder._

 _This is when Johnny finally catches up with her, getting into the locked room with his own key. "Hey!" he roars. In instant, he's rammed into her, spinning her around and snatching back his shoe._

 _"Hey!" she yells indignantly._

 _"Just takin' back," he grumbles, voice muffled as he slides the shoe back on and reties the laces, "what's rightfully mine."_

 _She stands on her tiptoes and tugs at his shirt. "I thought I was rightfully yours?"_

 _"Yeah, but…" He winces, and she recognizes this face and tone of voice. Clearly some of her sassy sarcasm has rubbed off onto him. His sweet personality has been tarnished by her, and she loves it. "… they're my Converse. These buggers aren't cheap."_

 _"Shut up!" Ash says suddenly. She whirls him around, fistfuls of his shirt enclosed in her hands, and pushes him down onto the floor into a pile of music sheets._

 _The papers flutter upward at the sudden movement, scared off like a flock of birds. Then, gracefully as leaves in autumn, they sway back down to the ground. One lands on his shoulder, and she brushes it away as she climbs on top of him._

 _"I wish you would just shut up and kiss me," she tells him._

 _"I believe that's a wish I can grant," he says. His large hand slides underneath her quills, resting on her back. Feeling his warmth through her shirt makes liquid fire shoot up her spine. He pulls her in while she leans close. They both smile into the kiss, but she knows his grin is wider when their teeth click._

The memory from a few weeks ago fizzes away from her wistful eyes. As Ash readjusts to reality, she realizes she's hugging her pillow, and it's wet from tears.

With a grunt, she kicks the quill-studded pillow away and glances back at her phone.

She has three new missed calls from Johnny. All from over fifteen minutes ago. How long was she lost in the perfect world of three weeks ago?

Johnny's contact picture is the one she took with the flash on to surprise him. His jaw is dropped, fangs peeking out, eyes wide and a brilliant caramel color in that lighting. She looks at it for a long time, but stops when she feels herself reaching for the pillow again.

The homesickness has hit her hard the past few days since she arrived at her parents' house. She's stayed inside most of the time, only going out to the drugstore once to buy a few choice items.

She can hear her mother moving around in the kitchen, opening and slamming the fridge door and various cupboards. Val is the absolute last animal Ash feels like dealing with right now, but it had dawned on her the moment she set foot back in Cheetah Rapids.

Her parents are all she's got. She wanted to escape the mess in Calatonia. Now she's here in Iowa. There must be some reason she came, right?

Love? Probably not that. She isn't getting much of it.

Guidance? Eh. She hasn't really found a whole lot of that either.

Attention? Something different? Something familiar and comforting?

Those will have to be her reasons.

Ash drags her feet along the old, crusty carpet in the hallway. The shades are still drawn over the windows in the kitchen, and the only source of light is from the old ceiling fan overhead. The crooked table is bathed in a foggy yellow light, like a lantern crowded with moths.

She slides down into a chair and looks at her mother. Val is popping a couple of bread slices into the toaster. A complaint instinctively slinks into Ash's mind, but she pushes it away. Anything is better than the shitty, cardboard-flavored frozen meals that have made up her diet in the past week.

"Morning, Mom," she says.

Val pulls out a half-eaten stick of butter from the fridge door and drops it carelessly onto the table. It lands with a _clang_ that beats again on Ash's poor eardrums.

"Morning," her mother mutters.

A few minutes later, the toaster coughs out the two bread slices, both of which are thoroughly singed on both sides. Her mother may as well have taken a flamethrower to the entire goddamn loaf.

The toast is hard as a rock when she bites into it, and tastes like her namesake— ash. She spits it out and sits in silence as her mother takes the other slice and glides a glob of butter over it with a knife.

"If you aren't gonna eat, how about you go and get the mail?" Val asks.

Ash pushes her chair back and heads over to the front door, rubbing one eye as she goes. Her father is asleep in the armchair in the living room, jaws parted to allow a loud snore to escape. The older-than-her TV is still on, flickering from one scene in an old rerun to the next.

She makes her jaunt down the front walk a quick one. To a bystander or passerby, she's probably nothing more than a brown blur. Her hand darts into the mailbox, fingers close on the stack of envelopes, and she's back up the walk and inside the small house.

She pauses in the small foyer, leaning against the closed front door and sifting through the mail. One envelope snags her attention. It's thicker than the rest, and it has her name on it.

The handwriting is vaguely familiar, but there's no return address.

She jogs back through the kitchen, tossing the rest of the junk mail and bills onto the table. She breezes into her room and locks the door behind her.

She tears into the envelope, ripping the paper mercilessly as if it were a morsel of food and she hasn't eaten in five years.

"What…?" she mumbles.

Its contents, a note and a small bag, tumble out onto her unmade bed. She picks up the note and reads.

 _Hey Ash. I don't know why you left, but I hope you're happy where you are. I remember you telling me Iowa is where your parents live, so I know you're safe there. Even so, if you want me to come, I will be there as soon as I can._

 _And if not, then I hope I see you soon. Don't ask how I got your address— it's kind of a long story._

 _But I just hope you're doing OK. Rosita seems to know something the rest of us don't, and she's keeping her lips zipped. Kind of makes me even more worried._

 _I miss you. A lot. I miss your smile and your eyes and your kisses and your voice. I'm not good at writing these love letter thingies. Sorry._

 _I'm also sorry about something else. It's my fault your lucky pick is gone. I guess that's an old problem now, but I figured now might be a good time to give these to you. I hope you like them and put good use to them, because I got the highest quality I could find. I think they're the same kind as your old one._

 _Yours,_

 _Johnny_

Ash's hand is trembling when she reaches for the bag and opens it.

Guitar picks. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty guitar picks, all green and shiny and new.

 **oo0oo**

It didn't take long for the police to track down Ash. All it took was giving them her cellphone number, and they were able to locate her phone in a remote part of Iowa. Johnny remembers her mentioning her birthplace being in a remote part of Iowa.

Instantly, he had relaxed. All the stress and tension had melted off his muscles, dripping away like condensation. Sure, he's still hurt that she's gone. But knowing that she's safe and with her family makes him feel a million times better.

Now he's standing in the post office with a small baggie of guitar picks in his hands. He had bought them the day after their fight, when he'd snapped her lucky pick in half. It's honestly a damn miracle Ash never discovered those pieces— probably Ms. Crawly swept them right into the trash without a second thought. He's never been more grateful for the old secretary's obliviousness.

Ash isn't answering Johnny's calls. That is still a major problem, of course. Just because the police department's technology tracked down her phone, it might not mean she's okay. But how could she not be? She's Ash!

Strong, resilient, stubborn, fearless Ash. It had killed him so much to see her crumble like that in his arms.

He never wants to see that happen again. She's supposed to be the strong one. He's supposed to be the big softie. He can be a shoulder to cry on, but that doesn't mean he has to like his unofficial job title.

He grabs a large envelope from a stack on a shelf and slides in his handwritten note and the bag of loose guitar picks. He swipes his tongue along the edge of the envelope, sealing it, then scribbles the address the cops had tracked her phone to. 53 Hedge Avenue.

He steps up to the mailbox and squeezes his eyes shut as he slides the envelope inside. He hears it drop to the bottom of the pile, echoing with a hollow _thud_ that sounds similar to the thudding of his heart.

A day or two later, he takes his truck for a drive, because it's nearly one hundred degrees and too hot to bear doing much else. As he's coasting along a remote coastline road, fingers light on the steering wheel because there's no cars either way for miles, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He yanks the car over to the narrow shoulder and checks the device.

Ash.

He picks it up in a split second.

"Ash," he says through gritted teeth. "What the hell— where have you— how did you—?"

"I'm okay, Johnny." Her voice is softer than her fur, and heavy like syrup, as if she's just woken up from a long nap.

He presses back into the seat. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Johnny." He can practically hear the smile in her words. "I'm coming home."


	12. Chapter 12

**I must admit, I'm not quite sure I like the turn this story has taken. I never planned for it to go this way - sometimes when I start writing, I just keep going and going until I barely recognize where I am in my original outline XD Oh well!**

 **I would say this is a fairly angsty chapter. But I hope you guys enjoy it! See you next time ^^**

* * *

The night Ash chooses for her departure is chilly and quiet. The house slumbers all around her as she packs up her things. When she has everything crammed into her duffel bag, she stands up and takes one final look around her childhood bedroom.

Even in the dim lightning, it looks magical and dismal at the same time. There's still a few patches of purple under the sloppy black paint job she'd performed at fourteen years old. When her room was purple, she was a happy, innocent little kid. She'd never liked dolls and dressing up like the other girls, but she enjoyed braiding her quills and sticking bent paper clips in her mouth to imagine how she'd look with braces. She spent evenings after school dancing in front of the mirror to old Serval Lavigne songs.

Then, like Serval Lavigne, she went a little haywire. Half of the household income went toward pounds of black makeup. Ash used to apply loads of mascara and dark eyeliner until she looked like a raccoon. That was around the time she decided to splatter black paint over her bedroom walls. The paint had been from an old can sitting in the basement, something likely older than her (and the TV) that was thick as tar at that point. A lot of possessions from her young childhood were ruined.

And she began to argue with her parents. A lot. All three of them grew bitter, and far apart.

So Ash ran away.

She doesn't like to think about her cliché sob story too often. She used to tell herself that all famous singers had a backstory like that, and that soon it would be her turn to shine.

Now she's not so sure. It wasn't fighting with her parents and throwing syrupy black paint on the walls that made her successful. It was staying strong in the face of trouble. It was not giving up. It was believing in herself that got her to where she is now.

Or, y'know, some stupid inspirational shit like that.

Ash hoists her bag up her shoulder and slips out of her room, shutting the door softly. Even so, the stupid old thing rattles in its frame at an alarmingly high volume. She cringes, standing frozen in the hallway with her hand clasping the knob, waiting to be discovered.

Only silence greets her.

She lets out a breath of relief, then tiptoes her way down the hall and through the foyer. She's stepping through the front doorway when she hears her dreaded full name.

"Ashlynn?"

She feels like a robot that hasn't gotten oiled in years. Her joints suddenly get rusty and stiff, unable to move. She blinks mournfully at the sidewalk ahead of her, at the freedom so close she can almost touch it—

"Why are you going?"

She's surprised that her father is the one to catch her. Every night since Ash came eight or nine days ago, Brian has been out like a light at seven thirty or earlier. Sometimes he would pass out before dinner and sleep in until lunch the next day. It's a miracle he isn't any thinner. Though, with this newfound knowledge that he _can_ function at one in the morning, Ash wouldn't put it past him to sneak a midnight snack or two.

"Um, you know…" She gulps, spinning around and locking eyes with him. During most of her stay, those identical blue eyes have been closed, locked away in slumber. Seeing them now is almost chilling. "I- I just think it's about time I leave. Get out of your and Mom's fur."

"Oh," he says dumbly. "Well, I guess I'll see you then." And he turns to go.

She watches him, bewildered. There are a few desperate moments, as her gaze clings onto his hunched back and heavy footsteps, willing him to turn around. She ends up drawing him back with her best feature— her voice.

"Hey!" she calls out. It's more of a whisper-shout, really, considering she's standing in full view of multiple sleeping neighbors and, if memory serves her right, sleep-deprived Val is not a friendly persona of her mother's.

Brian glances back over his shoulder, scratching at the thin gray-brown fur on one cheek. He's silent, but his eyes tell her to go on.

"A- aren't you gonna ask me when or if I'll be back? Don't you want to know why I even came in the first place?" Her voice breaks as she continues. "Don't y- you even… even care at all?"

Her dad shrugs. "What do you want me to say, Ashlynn? That I love you, and care about your wellbeing? You already know that."

"You don't always show it," she mutters darkly.

"Do I have to show that every second of the day?" he shoots back. "Look, I know your mother and I aren't exactly model parents. But we didn't have much to work with when you… left. When you showed up at our doorstep a week ago, we were angry. And confused." He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes into blue slits. "Tell me. Why did you come here? Do you even know?"

"For support," she says. "I needed to escape L.A. for a while, I was… am… lost."

"Lost?"

"I- I don't know…"

Her heart stops as he pulls a thin stick out of his pocket. He holds the object out to her. "Here, you might wanna take this with you when you tell your baby daddy about your predicament."

Every word is like another dagger slicing into her gut. She stumbles, and falters, watching in horror as her father examines the object again.

"What happened, hm?" He lets out a grim laugh. "I was always afraid this would happen… but I never thought it actually fuckin' would."

"That's not mine." The lie is past her lips before she can block it.

"Well, it sure as hell ain't your mother's."

She slumps against the doorframe. "I'm… I'm so sorry," she whimpers.

"I'm not mad," he assures her. "Just disappointed."

Wow, it's the classic phrase, back to strike again. A part of her actually considers rolling her eyes.

"Why did you come here, Ashlynn?" he repeats.

"Because I'm _scared_ , alright? I thought I could just run away again, but that doesn't work anymore." She marches up to him and snatches the object out of his paw. "I'm not even with my… my 'baby daddy' anymore! We were already broken up when this… when this happened! What the hell am I gonna do with a baby? My career is just starting. As soon as I get back to L.A., I want to sign with this agent who's been trying to recruit me for _months_ , Dad!"

"You can't—"

"I'm not keeping it," she spits. "This isn't the right time in my life for a kid! Not now, not ever."

She glances down at the pregnancy test, now just a white blur in her hands through the tears. How can a tiny piece of plastic change her life so drastically?

After her conversation with Johnny yesterday, she'd dug up the courage to finally use the damn thing. All last night was spent sobbing in the bathroom. She's mastered the art of silently crying, but for once in her life she wishes someone could have heard her. There is a warm, burly arm back in L.A. that was supposed to be wrapped around her shoulders. There is a set of chocolate brown eyes that was supposed to be gazing into her tear-filled ones. There is a deep, silky voice that was supposed to fill her ears and soul with comfort, and a pair of gentle lips to caress her to sleep last night. The only thing there for her was a cold tile floor and a ratty towel— hauntingly similar to the night she wants to erase. That fucking birthday party. _Her_ birthday party. A disaster waiting to happen.

"It's your choice what you want to do," her father finally says. "You're an adult now. We have no influence on you anymore." Brian gives her shoulder a quick squeeze. "Good luck, Ashlynn."

Then he's gone back down the hall and disappeared into their room.

Ash's gaze falls back onto the test. The tiny plus sign scowls up at her with a level of scorn she's never seen before. With a sigh, she drops the stick into her duffel bag and walks out the front door.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny sits in the parking lot of the bus station for hours. She didn't give him a very specific time for when she'd be back. All he had been told was a vague "around eight or nine in the morning, probably."

He doesn't even know when she left home. For all he knows, she might've made a few stops along the way. His phone tells him a drive from Cheetah Rapids to Los Angeles takes twenty-six hours, but who knows for sure?

When he finally lays his eyes on her for the first time in over a week, his heart melts into a mushy red puddle. He leaps out of his truck and practically trips over his own feet getting over to her.

Ash looks more battered than he expected. Granted, not many animals could emerge from twenty-plus hours on a bus looking impeccable, but she really looks like she's been through the wringer. More than once.

Johnny envelopes her in his arms, lifting her up with a rumble of joy from his throat. It's easy to ignore the prick of her quills as she startles at his touch. "It's so good ta see ya," he mumbles into her small shoulder. She smells like musty laundry detergent and wintergreen Tic-Tacs.

"Um, good to see you too." She tries and fails to wrap her much shorter arms around his entire abdomen— but by god, she tries. He can feel her press into him, her hands curling into either side of his ribcage.

He helps her into the truck and takes off, eager to flee from this dismal place. He spews out all the questions he's kept caged in his mind ever since she left.

"Why did ya go? Are ya okay? What 'appened in Iowa? Were ya wit' your parents? Are ya mad at me? Are ya mad at the others? How come ya—" He's breathless when she places her hand on his knee, wordlessly damming up the flood of words.

"Ash…" he says softly. "I was so worried about ya. I still _am_ , actually."

"Well, don't be. I'm just fine."

When he spares her a brief glance, he longs to know what's going on inside that head of hers. Is it a battle of emotions? Or is it sparser than a grass field?

"I don't want ya to feel like ya can't tell me anythin'. Ya can, Ash. Ya can trust me."

She doesn't reply until they're idling in front of her apartment. He can only assume that is where she wants to be dropped off— but then she mumbles, "Johnny… I'm sorry… could we maybe go to your place instead?"

His heart is thudding so hard against his ribs, it hurts. His hands slide down the steering wheel as his shoulders slump, confusion clouding his face. He stares at her.

"What?"

"Please. I don't wanna be alone right now."

He doesn't question her again.

By the time he pulls the truck into the garage, it is obvious she's ready to spill something. None of her typical stubbornness rears its head as she accepts his help to get down from the truck. He picks up her bag and rests it on a nearby table, sliding his hands in his pockets after tossing the car keys to the side.

"So. This is my humble abode," he tells her. "It's not much, but… it's home."

She grins. "I like it."

"You do?"

Her smile is reserved yet still so beautiful. "Yeah. I…" She gulps, and the smile is quick to hide itself again. "… uh, thank you for taking me here. I've… I need you, Johnny."

He barely has time to reply before she is digging through her bag. Once she finds what she is looking for, she hesitates, then reveals the object.

It's a small white stick, with a blue cover on one end. It almost looks like…

Oh.

"I'm… I'm pregnant. Apparently. According to this thing and, like, thirty other symptoms. And I'm sure you know who's it is."

 _Ohhh._ The frowning face and narrowed green eyes flash through his mind.

"Y'know, Lance. The only guy I've been with who could knock me up." She drops the test suddenly, kicking it across the cold cement floor. It skids to a halt under a chair. Ash blinks up at him, her lips sewn into a forlorn grin. "Long story short, I'm fucked."

Johnny doesn't look at the test again. He doesn't need to nor does he want to. He just takes her hand and leads her up the stairs and to his room. He settles onto the bed and helps her up next to him.

"Johnny?" she asks nervously.

"Ash, I want ya to tell me… what you're goin' ta do."

"What?"

He clasps his hands in his lap, sinking back into his pillow. "Because I don't know what ta do."

She crosses her arms and keeps a safe distance from him on the bed. "What do you have to worry about? You don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

His body moves before his brain has a chance to think twice. He whirls to face her, fur bristling and face twisted. "Ya just told me ya need me! Stop goin' back on somethin' ya said thirty seconds ago!"

"Sorry." She looks positively— or rather, negatively— stricken. He can see his defiant expression reflected in her eyes, shaded under a teary blue film. He sits back as she continues.

"Johnny, I… I just… this isn't the right time. I want to start my career. I want to go out there and make myself heard beyond L.A. And, hell, I- I'm nineteen! I can't be a- a _mother_!" She holds his gaze, searching him for answers he doesn't have. "Can you picture me as a _mother_? Fuck, Johnny! I- I'm carrying the spawn of my ex. If I follow through with this, there will _always_ be a part of Lance with me. Forever and ever and ever!"

Johnny sighs. "Then we'll launch a career together."

"We'll… what?" She shakes her head, brow furrowed. "How would that help?"

"In the long run, it probably wouldn't. But… these days duet or group acts get popular faster. If we make this 'Rollercoaster' song really good, we could 'ave a good deal on our hands. Or, um, our…" He pats one of her much smaller hands, both of which are curled into fists. "… paws."

She scoffs. "You can 'paws' your yapping." The hint of humor in her tone has dissolved when she speaks again. "Really… are you sure you wanna do that? It's still a big risk."

"After the concert, we can do it," Johnny explains. "Buster will understand. Surely he can't expect us to stick 'round forever, can he?"

"It's Buster. I wouldn't put it past him."

"Still," he insists. "Ash, listen, I really don't know what ta think of this. But I'm here for ya, as a friend and as a lover."

There's a long pause. She's peering at him, jaw slightly ajar. It takes way too long for it to become apparent to him what he just said.

"Crap, I- I mean, um. _Not_ lover. I mean… like, boyfriend. Y- y'know." A nervous titter tickles his throat. Still she's looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Ash!" he begs. "Ash, stop lookin' at me like—"

"Like what?" she asks teasingly.

"L- like ya wanna—" He's cut off by a chaste kiss from her, deposited swiftly onto his lips. Her face is apart from his sooner than he would like it to be. "Ash…" he says softly.

"Why did you bring me to your bed then, you idiot?"

He hides his face behind his large hands. "Do I look like I know?"

"Nope," she replies. "Not one bit."

They don't speak much after that. It's only a little past ten in the morning, but they both slip into a dreamless sleep. Johnny really has no idea what to do. He doubts she knows what to do either. His blood is boiling over with anger like an unattended kettle. How could Lance be so stupid? How could _she_ be so careless?

Despite all of this, he is fully aware of one very real and very awesome thing.

The gap in his bed is filled. Filled with silky brown fur, messy quills, and a pair of closed cobalt eyes still damp from tears. It's filled with the wonder known as Ash.

And it really is quite a wonderful feeling to have her burrowed into him. Troubles or no troubles, he still makes one hell of a security blanket.


	13. Chapter 13

**I am so sorry about the long wait! I really struggled with writer's block during this chapter. I also am working on finishing up a fic for another fandom, so that took up a lot of my time. But now I am back, and hopefully this chapter is a good enough excuse for my long absence! If not, then... I'm sorry ;-;**

 **Also, keep a lookout for any one shots I may be posting soon! Lots of people have given me ideas and inspiration, and I honestly need to write out these ideas before I forget what I want to do with them XD**

 **In any case, enjoy! Please review and let me know what you think.**

* * *

Johnny's truck rumbles to a stop, the engine growling behind the front grille. He sets it into park and hops down, quickly moving around the other side to the right door. Gingerly he takes his passenger's hand, as if it is a flower petal he doesn't want to crush, and helps her down from the tall vehicle.

As Ash's feet hit the sidewalk, she glances up. "Oh," she sighs. "So _this_ is why we had to dress up."

"Wasn't my idea to come 'ere, trust me," Johnny says as he hands the keys to the valet. "If it had been up to me, we'd be pullin' up in front o' a nice burger joint 'ight 'bout now." He runs forward a few steps to hold the door open for her, but a prim and proper baboon doorman beats him to it.

When they enter the restaurant, Ash can feel the monkey's gaze hot on them. It's not tough to figure out why; her "dress" is a dark red one that is very rough around the edges, with a few slashes near the hem to give it a more ruffled appearance. It's so short that it required jeggings to be worn underneath. It is more like a tunic, really, than a dress.

Johnny is sporting a pale blue button down that looks nice on him. She secretly appreciates his decision to leave the top button undone— which exposes a few more tufts of dark chest hair than his usual green shirt does— but the baboon doesn't seem to agree with that choice. Even so, the doorman stays silent and lets them pass under his laser-like gaze.

From across the room, they glimpse Buster waving at them. Their boss, along with Eddie, Rosita, Gunter, and Meena, is seated at a large round table close to the squid tanks in the center of the dining area.

Shyly, the pair joins the group. Ash squeezes in between Rosita and Meena, while Johnny is a third wheel trapped between Buster and Eddie. The koala is already turned around, engaged in some kind of sign-language interaction with the squids. A few of them are glaring at him, tentacles crossed.

"Um…" Ash leans in to whisper in Meena's ear. "They don't look happy."

"I think they're the guys who got washed down the storm drain," Meena mutters back. "If I were them, I'd definitely be traumatized."

At last Buster turns back to the table, his ears drooping slightly, as their waiter walks up. Once everyone's drinks are ordered, Buster grins at Ash.

"I arranged this special dinner just for you, Ash! In honor of your return."

"Oh." Sheepishly, she rubs her arm. "You didn't have to do this—"

"No, we wanted to," Eddie assures her. "We were so worried about you, in a way it's like we're also celebrating our relief."

Buster grins stiffly and raises his empty wine glass. "Yay to me being off my anti-anxiety medication!" he cheers.

Guilt floods Ash as everyone else chimes in with their own unusual toasts. These included, but were not limited to: Rosita becoming so distracted that a few of her children ran rampant around the grocery store; Meena baking a new cake every night just in case Ash were to show up at the theater that day; and Gunter gaining five pounds from binge eating. Ash is only able to celebrate _her_ relief when the guilt-tripping confessions are over.

"S- so," she says. "Where are Mike and Ms. Crawly?"

"Ms. Crawly had a date with this new man she met on that dating website, and Mike is… oh, right there," Rosita explains, nodding toward the entrance.

Mike strides in wearing his entire getup: purple velvet suit, fedora, and a venomous smirk. He takes the hat off as soon as he enters, makes a face when the baboon offers to take it from him, then heads over to their table and begins to climb up onto a chair.

"Sorry I'm late, folks," he grunts as he struggles to heave himself onto the chair. "Got held up by my dear lady again."

Eddie leans over the table, eyebrow arched as everyone watches the mouse scrabble his way up the chair leg as if it were a tough-to-scale mountainside. "Uh, do you need help, Mike? Like… maybe a booster chair or something so you can see the table—"

"Me? Need a booster chair?" Mike snorts. "Don't make me laugh, Fluffy." Finally, he makes it onto the chair, and remains standing so that the tips of his round ears can be seen. He calls up to everyone while trying to hide his breathlessness from his climb. "So, did I miss the guilt-trip Ash session or…?"

Ash feels her face flush, though from annoyance or shame she can't be sure. Luckily the waiter brings their drinks right then, and she's able to drown any impending spiteful words in her water.

"Are you all ready to order?"

The waiter's question is met with a smile from Buster, one that's so wide it stretches his cheeks to their peak elasticity. "I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm perfectly fine with my eucalyptus and mayo sandwich here." He raises the aforementioned object, not noticing when a mayo-soaked leaf lands on the freshly-ironed tablecloth.

"Sir," the tiger says as the beginnings of stress marks appear on his furry forehead, "I'm afraid you cannot bring your own food into this dining establishment."

Buster frowns. "Oh. Well, I… I just thought…"

"Wait a minute," their waiter goes on as if he hadn't spoken. "You're that koala, aren't you? The one that Paul kicked out a few months ago?" He doesn't even give Buster time to answer. "I'm afraid you and your party will have to be escorted out. We cannot allow such… disgusting behavior as you exhibited here in November to happen again."

The group exchanges disappointed glances, some more curious than others. Ash is one of them; just what did Buster do last name that was so bad?

"Sir," the tiger says. "If I must ask you again I will have to call for backup."

A minute later, the theater family is standing outside the restaurant, dumbfounded. Almost every pair of eyes is cast on Buster.

"Jeez, Moon. What did you do in there, murder somebody?" Mike demands.

"No. I just… there was a mishap. It wasn't a big deal," the koala replies absently. He kicks suddenly at a pebble, sending it skittering down the sidewalk. Then his huge ears perk up, and a cheery grin is restored to his face. He turns to face the others.

"Come on, you guys! We can't let getting booted to the curb bring us down! The evening is still young. This is a big city. There are plenty of other places to go!"

Ash crosses her arms. "We'll just have to make sure _you're_ allowed in them first."

"Very funny, Ash."

Just then, the valet pulls up with Johnny's truck. Another one comes up on a rickety bicycle, while a third arrives with Rosita's minivan.

There's only a single snort from somewhere in the group as the valet dismounts the bike and disdainfully lets it fall onto the ground with a fragile _clunk_.

"Hey, hey! This is a vintage Schwinn right here. Doing _that_ is the equivalent of dropping a diamond ring into the gutter." Buster rushes over to retrieve his precious bicycle while shooting a glare at the penguin.

"Not really," Ash mutters. Johnny nudges her in the ribs, and she turns her own scowl on him. "How about you try nudging me in the back next time and see what happens?" she hisses.

Rosita fishes her keys out of her bag after tipping her valet. "Look, everyone. I really need to get home in forty-five minutes to tuck my kids into bed. If we're not getting along, then I think we should just call it a night."

"No, wait! Please!" Buster mounts his bike and makes a wide sweeping motion with one arm. "Everyone, just get in a car and follow me."

"Where are we going?" Meena asks.

Their boss grins, and Ash gets a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "You'll see."

Johnny and Ash climb back into the cab of his truck, while everyone else piles into Rosita's minivan. To any outsider, it must be a hilarious or disconcerting sight to see two cars closely following a small koala on a bicycle. But to everyone in the group, it is just another average day. If the sky falls right now, none of them would even bat an eyelash.

Sure enough, the brakes of Buster's bicycle squeal to a stop in front of the Moon theater. Johnny and Rosita are quick to pull over their respective vehicles, while Buster parks his beloved bike in a secure spot and waves hello to the squids as they walk under their tanks and into the lobby.

The group weaves between the aisles of seats, their footsteps echoing and bouncing off the walls of the cavernous room. Buster takes them up onto the stage, where he plops down in the center and grins gleefully. He takes his sandwich back out of its back and takes a big, crunchy bite.

"Here we are," he says. "We don't need a fancy restaurant"— he pauses to swallow— "to welcome Ash back home."

Eddie sits down next to him with a resigned sigh. He loosens his bowtie and slides it off of his neck. "Hey, if it means I can take off your super-tight bowtie, then I'm all for it."

Buster smirks. "What, it couldn't fit around all that fluff?" He reaches up to plant a kiss on his boyfriend's cheek.

A groan comes from Mike. "I wish you'd informed me this is a couples' night. If you two get to be all cutesy-patootsy, then I should be allowed to romance my woman in front of…"

Abruptly, his rant tapers off. Multiple pairs of eyes are glued on Ash.

"Uh, is something wrong?" she asks, confused. Her moment of realization arrives the very next second.

Instinct had taken ahold of her, and now she's leaning her head against a certain somebody's muscular arm.

In front of the entire crew.

"Shit." _Play it cool Ash, just play it cool._ And yet the words do nothing except make her cheeks hotter than two burners on a stove. She jerks backwards away from Johnny as if he has sprouted a second head. "Um…"

There's a gleam in Meena's eyes that Ash doesn't like one bit. Their friend leans forward and props her chin on her foot with a mischievous air so foreign to her personality.

"So, I'm not only the third wheel to my two best friends," the elephant begins, "but I'm now officially the only single one in the group. Yay me."

"Meena!" Ash and Johnny explode at the same time. Various obscenities rage within Ash's mind, along with several curses on her friend.

"Well, you weren't exactly hiding your affection there, sweetheart," Mike points out. Ash scowls at him.

Rosita is busy taking out her earrings. "I've actually known for a while too," she admits. "I was watching both of your faces during the interview with Wendy. Particularly when she was, um, discussing how Meena and—"

"Yas!" Gunter cuts in, to Ash's relief. "Eet ees often when two souls seeng a duet where the root of true love forms."

Eddie picks a eucalyptus leaf out of Buster's sandwich, sniffs it, then bites into it with a shrug. "Yeah, I walked by your rehearsal room a few weeks back and saw you two swapping spit against the wall. I thought everyone knew already."

When Ash turns to look up at Johnny, he's glancing down at her tenderly. She doesn't even resist when he takes her hand and encloses it in his warm palm. It feels so right, there is no way she can deny his touch.

Yet there's still some tension remaining on the stage. The only one who has yet to speak is Buster.

The koala tosses his half-eaten sandwich away. His face is frozen in an expression of shock.

"Buster?" Eddie asks.

It's like somebody dropped Buster in the middle of a horror film. He sits, still as a statue, made of furry gray stone. The only sign of life is the faint movement of his chest.

"Buster, are ya alright?" Johnny says, a note of concern palpable in his voice.

Then, out of nowhere, Buster lifts his fist into the air as a shaky grin forms on his face. "Yay to me being back on my anti-anxiety medication!" he cheers.

Ash's stomach drops. If only he knew the worst of it.

 **oo0oo**

Every night since she came back from her parents' home, Ash has stayed at the garage. Johnny doesn't mind this at all. The only irritation is something trivial: he treads more carefully around the place. He always cleans up after himself, always washes every dish rather than leaving it in the sink for later.

He also keeps a close eye on her. He would do this anyway, but knowing her particular condition, he does it all the more insistently. He is fully aware that if he were to admit this aloud that he would get a face full of spines, but it would be a small price to pay in exchange for her wellbeing.

Every day, he has to banish the same question over and over again: "What are you going to do?" The words creep up his throat, but they never make it off his tongue. He doesn't want to stress her out. Yet at the same time, carrying her ex's child is an obvious burden on her. He hates to see her like this, and he hates to feel so useless.

Johnny arrives home late one night a few days after their relationship was confirmed to the theater group. He had run out to the store really quick to pick up some necessities, and as he slides under the heavy metal door, her voice comes to charm him almost immediately.

" _Isn't anyone trying to find me? Won't somebody come take me home?_ "

The words are accompanied by the soft strum of guitar strings, but it's the melody her exceptional voice produces that captures him. The lyrics glide up her throat and dance off her tongue.

" _It's a damn cold night… trying to figure out this life… w- won't you take me by the hand?_ "

Johnny gently sets the groceries on the counter and takes calculated, soft steps up the staircase. He goes down the short hallway and stops in the open doorway of his bedroom.

She's sitting cross-legged on top of his bed, which dwarfs her even more than Johnny himself. She is surrounded by an ocean of blue sheets that are crinkled and crumpled like waves receding from the shore. Music sheets are littered around her. Her guitar case sits open to the side, while her prized instrument rests in her lap. Her fingers and the guitar pick make a great team as she works them over the strings.

" _Take me somewhere new… I don't know who you are, but I… I'm with you…_ "

It takes every ounce of strength in his body to not pounce on top of her. She looks stunning in this moment, illuminated only by the watchful yellow gaze of his nightstand lamp. He sees her nose twitching furiously and her eyes directed at the ceiling; a clear-cut sign that she's holding back tears.

She utters out the final line of the chorus as he approaches her. His deeper voice combines with hers beautifully.

" _I'm with you…_ "

Hearing the unexpected tone lurking behind hers startles Ash. She sets down the guitar and glances up at him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "It's just… that's an old song I used to love a- and… well, I just get it so much more now."

He takes her hand and squeezes it. "You 'ave absolutely nothin' ta be sorry for. It's a beautiful song for a beautiful girl ta sing."

She shuts her eyes, and the tears leak out, tinged black with mascara. She falls backward onto the bed, which Johnny now notices is covered in quills as well as music sheets.

"Ash…" he starts.

"They fall out a lot when I'm stressed out. Sometimes it's nice to just"— she reaches behind her and yanks out another spine, flicking it away— "yank them out. It feels good."

"No," Johnny says. "Don't do that to yourself." His body reacts faster than his brain to her compromising position. He crouches over her, running his hands over her small body.

"Johnny," she shudders.

His mind panics, as he realizes she must be intimidated by his hulking size. He rips himself away from her. "I- I'm sorry— I don't want to hurt you."

She frowns, brushing several quills off the sheets. "I- I don't want to hurt you either."

"You won't," he says confidently.

"You can't," she replies.

Still he hesitates. His chest heaves over hers, and when he exhales they're almost touching.

"I know you won't crush me," she murmurs. "Just as I won't prick you. This is about trust, Johnny. I feel safe with you."

His mouth falls open. He knows how silly he must look, and yet his jaw seems wired to hang open that way. "Ya do?"

"Safe as I've ever felt." Her paws trace over the bulging muscles in his arms, and he feels an odd desire to rid himself of his shirt. Her words are like a boost to an ego that has never been especially inflated. He puffs out his chest, and at last he bends down over her and allows his lips to connect with hers.

They continue with this for several minutes, engaging their mouths in this pure bliss and magnetic attraction. He's taken aback when she suddenly moves her lips off of his and travels downward. She's clinging onto his shirt, pulling him as far down as he can go so that his body is pressed against hers. She nuzzles into his neck, nibbling and sucking at the rich black fur there. Goosebumps ripple over his skin.

He's only had a few encounters in the past similar to this. It has been a while, but now old instincts are kicking in. He swallows a groan of pleasure and focuses on sliding the zipper down her back.

She doesn't protest. Rather, she mimics him. Her hands find the hem of his shirt and pull upward. Simultaneously, they shrug out of their tops. His jeans feel tight and hot, squeezing his legs like a coiled rattlesnake.

He is so lost in this amazing moment with her that the alarm bells don't go off in his head until far too late. They are tangled in the sheets and tangled in each other when his eyes finally pop open. There she is, naked from the waist up with clumps of his dark chest fur grasped in her fists. Worry and second thoughts consume him, and he leans away from her.

"Johnny…" She whimpers gently, her eyes wide and very extraordinarily blue when they land on him. "Please…"

"I don't wanna hurt you." He sits up, gathering his shirt and holding it up to his chest.

"I said, you're not going to—"

He shakes his head vigorously. Tears sting the back of his eyes. "Ash, I can't do this! Ya say I won't hurt ya, but there's still a chance I might. An' if I hurt ya, then I could never forgive myself."

A look of malice glitters in her gaze. "So you're gonna reject me? Just because of how I… h- how I am?" Her voice is mocking and scornful when she goes on. "Because of my 'condition'?"

It's like she has been reading his mind all along. He buries his face in his hands, refusing to meet her angry look.

"Ash… ya need ta figure that out. Or, rather, _we_ need ta. There's some trust on your end, maybe, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't trust ya completely yet!" he bursts out. "Ya just left town, without any warnin'. What if ya do that again? Tomorrow I could wake up and you'll be gone. Do ya know what that _feels_ like? I- it's like you're takin' a grater ta my heart, just shreddin' it over an' over an' over…"

She blinks down at her lap, then back at him. "I'm sorry… I don't mean to hurt you." She laughs grimly. "You said I wouldn't hurt you, and yet here we are."

There is a long period of silence. Johnny knows he should put his shirt back on, but he doesn't make any move to. Before she came here, he always used to sleep shirtless. The past week he's worn a shirt to bed, but it feels so unnatural to him.

Besides, she isn't putting her shirt back on, either. So what's the point?

"Maybe we should… like, start over," she says. "Everything has gotten so screwed up over the past month and a half. If we just revert back to how things were in the middle of June, then maybe we'll be alright."

He nods. "I see your point, but… everyone knows about us already. A- and you're…" He can't bring himself to say it. But, luckily, she knows what he's implying.

"We can take things slower," Ash tells him. She speaks carefully, going through each word like a well-timed baby step forward. "And we'll tell each other exactly how we feel. We won't hold anything back, not anymore. And…"

He tilts his head. "And?"

She closes her eyes and exhales. "I'll tell Lance what's going on."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she mutters. "He deserves to know."

* * *

 **Please note: those song lyrics are not mine and probably should not be included here; I know. I'll remove them if I must. But I really thought they were necessary to make this scene a little more emotional. They are from the song "I'm With You" by Avril Lavigne. It's a really beautiful song and I find it very fitting for Ash in her current situation, so I recommend you give it a listen if you haven't already ^^**


	14. Chapter 14

**I apologize for the delay. Thank you so much for the love! I will always appreciate it so much.**

 **Warning: this is a heavy one. Things take a really dark turn this chapter, and it honestly pained the hell out of me to write it.**

* * *

"So… what do you want?"

Lance has his typical casual "swagger" out in full force today. His arms are crossed, and he's leaning back in his chair with his eyelids lowered and eyebrows slanted, conveying a look of ultimate carelessness. Everything about his appearance screams "I don't care, I'm chill" except for one thing: the small smile perched on his lips. It's somewhat awkward, something thrown on as an afterthought. Ash wonders why it took her so long to realize how even the most genuine of smiles don't fit in with the rest of his face.

"Hello to you, too," Ash replies. She sits down in the chair opposite him, scooting it in. She is honestly shocked he beat her getting here. In their almost two years together, he would leave her waiting for hours at various restaurants, events and get-togethers. Then, the first time she was ever late getting home, he went and found another girl to amuse him. Figures.

But she doesn't want to dwell on it now. Not anymore, not when it happened over seven months ago. Not when, as Lance claims, Becky is no longer in his life.

"Listen, babe—"

"Don't call me babe." She's quick to swoop in and suffocate any of his charming efforts.

His eyebrows slant even lower, if that's possible. He sighs, then tries again. "Listen… Ash. You've just texted me out of nowhere, asking to meet up at some stuffy little café. You seriously don't expect me to be a little… tempted?"

"Well, tell your temptation it can go take a hike," she tells him.

Any last trace of a smile disappears from his features. "You're so different now," he says thoughtfully.

"Good."

The conversation rolls to a halt for a few moments as their waitress steps up. It just so happens to be a pretty young leopard, and after she takes their drink orders, Lance's eyes are on her ass the entire time she sashays away.

"As different as I am," she sighs. "You haven't changed one bit."

Yet even as she says it, she knows it's not completely true. A few weeks ago when she and Johnny ran into him, he had been subdued and courteous. The quill he had given back to her is now in a landfill somewhere, but his gesture had been kind all the same.

And now, today, it's like someone pushed a button and reverted him back to the same old Lance.

"I… guess I'll take that as a compliment," he says.

"Sure. Be my guest."

The waitress returns with their drinks, and a minute later departs again with their lunch orders. Ash sucks down a few gulps of her soda as if that could serve as a substitute for talking. He also takes his time with a few sips before glancing up at her with the straw resting between his teeth.

"So how are you?"

She returns his gaze with just a touch more of attitude. "I'm so glad you asked. I'm doing pretty terrible, believe it or not."

He gulps. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh' is right. Do you know what exactly happened on the night of my birthday, Lance?"

"Uh… we had a good time?"

She gnaws on the plastic straw in her drink until it's punctured with multiple teeth marks. She slides the drink away and mutters, "Did you forget something important?"

He shrugs.

"Something like, oh, I don't know, _protection_?"

The first glimmer of realization appears on his stupidly nonchalant face. There's the faintest of glimmers in his eyes, paired with a deepening frown.

"Lance, I made a mistake sleeping with you that night. That's the obvious issue. The not-so-obvious problem is… I'm pregnant."

Although her exterior is brittle and stern, inside she's trembling with fear of rejection. Her heart is crawling up her throat to pound behind her gritted teeth. A ripple of nerves slithers up her spine like a snake. There's only a thin barrier between her eyes and the cascade of tears waiting to be shed.

"You're kidding me, right?" he asks finally.

The worst case scenario would be him running the hell out of there, so at least he's not doing that. Yet.

"No. Why the hell would I joke about that?" she hisses back.

"Fuck." The curse emerges softly from his grimace. "Fuck." He lowers his head onto the table, gently pounding a fist against the surface. With every blow, their utensils jump a little bit and inch closer and closer to the edge, like they're hoping to escape this tense situation.

After a bit, Lance lifts his face again to look at her. He looks exhausted more than anything else. Not angry, not scared, not surprised, just… tired.

"This— this couldn't have happened when we were still together, huh?" He chuckles glumly. "So, which will it be? Lancelot Junior or Ashlynn Junior?"

"Your name is not Lancelot," she grumbles.

"Oh, forgive me. Should I be saying Johnathan Junior?" He leans his head on one arm while repositioning the straw between his teeth. "Isn't that right? You're dating the gorilla now?"

She can't help the whine that rises up her throat. "Dammit, Lance, can't you take this a little more seriously? I wanted to let you know, b- because—"

"Because why, Ash? You really want me back in your life?" His shoulders lift up then down lamely. "I know that song you wrote is about me. Right?"

She pauses, then gives a meek nod.

"Okay, so whatever happened to letting it go, huh?"

Ash conceals her face behind her heads while letting out a groan. " _Set It All Free_. It's called _Set It All Free_."

Lance narrows his eyes and leans back in his seat, once again assuming his default pose. "What happened to setting it all free, Ash?"

The leopard stops by again to deliver their food. After she's set down their sandwiches, a wide grin appears on her face as she claps her paws together. "Please forgive me, but I just have to say this. You two make such a cute couple!"

Lance is already three bites deep into his sandwich, but now there's a glob of half-chewed food sailing across the table. It lands maybe a centimeter away from her plate. Ash looks from the glob to him.

He looks as if the waitress has told him to go eff himself. There's also something odd in his gaze, a glimmer of… remorse, maybe? It tugs at one of her heartstrings: pity. The feeling leaves her after just a few seconds, though.

"We're… we're not, um, not a couple," he manages to sputter out when Ash doesn't say anything. There's a split few heartbeats, as the waitress's face morphs into one of embarrassment, then he adds, "… not anymore."

"Oh!" The leopard winces apologetically. "I'm so, so sorry. I- I shouldn't have assumed…"

Ash waves her away, as if her ill-fated compliment can just be shooed like a fly. If only. "Don't worry about it, really," she says. "It's fine."

"That was rude of me. I'll take a portion off the bill," the waitress insists. Before either of them can object, the leopard is gone.

Now it's like their discussion has ran head-on into a brick wall. Ash can feel her head pounding right along with her heart. Talking with her ex is like suffering through a nasty hangover.

"Look," she mutters at last after a while of them both holding staring contests with their sandwiches— and losing miserably— "I just wanted to tell you this so that you're more careful in the future. Not with me… with other girls."

He just nods, looking utterly defeated.

"As for t- the baby, well… I'm still deciding on that. Right now I'm at a decent place in my career. If we want to sign with a label, then I can't carry on with… with this. So—"

"Wait. Hold on a sec. You said 'we.' 'If _we_ want to sign with a label.'" His fingers have been digging into his food, and now the unfortunate sandwich is flat as a pancake. "Who's 'we'?"

"Um." Ash scratches her neck. "Me and Johnny."

"The gorilla." Lance slams a fist on the table, attracting the attention of a few nearby patrons. He scowls at them and they turn away hurriedly. "The gorilla! I freakin' knew it."

Ash keeps her voice low as she responds. "Don't be like this, Lance. I brought you here so you wouldn't make a scene. Now listen to me. I _wanted_ us to make a career together. That contest? I did it for you and me, as I've told you already. You couldn't accept that, as you know. You wanted to break my heart instead of give me some time in the spotlight."

To her relief, he doesn't make a move to retaliate. He just rubs his temples and throws his barely-picked-at sandwich back onto the plate. "I'm sorry, Ash. I screwed up. I'm an asshole. I'm not asking for you to take me back, but… maybe this is a sign, y'know? If you can't set it all free, if this happened, then maybe we should get back together."

"You literally just contradicted yourself." She takes another bite, swallows, then pushes her plate back. "Christ, Lance. I'm done, okay?" She stands up and places a few bills on the table. "In a week, I'll have made my decision. I'll call you and let you know if I'm keeping the baby or not."

"It's not just _the_ baby," he mumbles. "It's _our_ baby."

Slowly, she shakes her head. "Don't remind me." Then she walks out.

Ash exits the restaurant swiftly and melts back into the bustling crowd. Excited tourists are everywhere today, cameras raised high and flashing nonstop. Animals chatting on their cellphones or with an acquaintance steamroll along over the sidewalk, not paying attention to any smaller beings.

Eager to be avoided, Ash puffs out her quills and adopts a quick jog. She races the rest of the way back to her apartment, jamming the key into the lock and collapsing inside when the door gives.

She gets to her feet and stares around. She hasn't been here since before she left for her parents'. A thin layer of dust now resides on all the shelves, and when she opens the fridge a sickening smell, something rotten, wafts out.

The tears are stinging her eyes, and then there's vodka sloshing down her throat. Every last ounce of logic ditches her. She raids her entire supply of alcohol, sorting through bottles. Sharp smelling liquids, amber and clear, all call invitingly to her. Every drink wants to be sampled, wants to escape from the confinement of its bottle. The glasses clink as she pushes them to the side, and the clinking rings in her ears and bounces against her brain.

Then she's sprawled on the floor, feeling the bile rise up in her throat. She fights it, swallowing the substance her body so desperately wants to eject. The bottles are still clinking even when they're still. She can hear it in her hazy subconscious: the sharp ding of thick glass, the gulping noise her throat makes as she forces it to take in the burning vodka.

Her vision goes double, then quadruple. When she crawls to a mirror, there's four wasted, knocked up nineteen-year-olds wavering there to greet her. A sob seizes her throat, and her teeth gnash. When she collapses against the wall just feet away from a collection of colorful bottles with colorful labels, there are no warm arms to hug her or brown eyes to comfort her. Just silence and empty air.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny slams his fingers against the piano keys, absolutely taken by the melody. It has taken him eight days and nights, but finally he's found something that captures him. His hands work nimbly, sliding from one end of the keys to the other. Who knew writing music could be so fun?

He had come up with this latest set of lyrics a bit unexpectedly. They came from his heart in a spontaneous moment, and after a bit of convincing from Ash, he finally decided to try them out in the song. And damn, is he glad he did.

" _What if I wake up t'morrow, n' you're gone? Ya grate my heart, shreddin' it away piece by piece. What will ya do when there's nothin' left?_

" _Yet every time I tell myself ta go, somethin' makes me love, love ya even more. It's like I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps going, going on. Stay with me, my rollercoaster… stay wit' me now…_ "

Hmm. That ending doesn't flow well. He stops playing and transfers his attention to the lyric sheet. It's a piece of notebook paper that is now very marked up with eraser marks and shavings. He brushes a few away as he fills in a few revisions.

It's past ten p.m., and he's only just starting to think of retiring for the night. Today Ash was granted a day off for her meeting with Lance. That, of course, is a detail Buster hadn't been clued in on. But the carefree koala had given her the free day without much protest.

All day Johnny has been dying to know how the meeting went. Already he can imagine her sitting on his bed back at the garage, wearing just a long t-shirt with a stretched-out neck hole that falls off her exposed shoulder…

Shit. He needs to focus. After plugging in the right notes to go with the edited lyrics, he goes through them a couple more times. It sounds better, but still not perfect. He should tweak it again. Even so, the huge yawn that splits his jaws right then tells him otherwise.

He shuts off the light in the room and hallway, then uses his phone flashlight to guide him back out to the lobby. Grabbing his skateboard, he slips back out into the night toward home.

When he arrives at an empty garage, the first flame of worry ignites within him. He combs through the entire place, under and behind every piece of furniture and inside every room. It's no use.

She's gone.

No note, no clue, not anything to explain her absence. Panic is like gasoline for the searing flame inside him. As the fire is fed, his worry grows.

Johnny goes back out into the night, already calling her on his phone as he goes. Panic gives him the gift of speed and few cars. His skateboard is rolling freely in the middle of the street, skirting potholes and jumping curbs when necessary.

There's no answer from her after five tries, so he gives up and shoves the device back in his pocket with a grunt.

He pulls up to her apartment and finds the front door locked. He drives his fists against the unyielding wood, but all this accomplishes is making the hinges squeal and rattle irritably.

"Ash!" he yells, practically making out with the door as he leans into it. "Ash, it's Johnny! Are ya there? Open up, please!"

He can feel the exhaustion setting in, but adrenaline doesn't let it get too far. He steps down off the front stoop, takes a few deep breaths, then charges forward and slams his entire weight against the door.

That's all it takes for it to cave in. Wood splinters and embeds itself in his skin like shrapnel. He doesn't care about that pain, however. He only notices the raging wildfire of worry that has consumed every living square inch of him.

He plunges into the darkness of her apartment, scrambling around for a light switch. As he's running his hands blindly over the walls, his toe hits something that skids across the floor with a deafening _clank_.

Finally, his fingers close on a switch, and he flips it upward. In a span of mere seconds, his eyes float downward and land on the missing girl.

She's no longer his mermaid in a sea of blue sheets on his bed. She's a drowned sailor surrounded by an ocean of empty bottles. The tang of alcohol is so overpowering, he's stunned he didn't smell it sooner.

Johnny throws himself onto the floor, taking her in his arms and shaking her gently.

"Ash. Ash, please. Wake up! Oh, dammit, wake up…"

She is limp as a rag doll. Her beautiful face is slackened, her body entirely at his mercy. Her clothes are wrinkled, her makeup a black smear caked in her fur. Quills are strewn among the bottles. A trail of vomit leads from the corner of her mouth to the floor. Her eyes are closed, and when he opens one they are glazed over.

His whole body is shaking. His muscles feel like putty that can barely manage her weight as he picks her up and heads for the door.

He curses himself for not driving the truck here. He kicks his skateboard to the side, deeming it useless for now. Instead, he just runs.

He streaks over the pavement, holding her close and disregarding the flare of pain in his arms as her quills poke them. He goes over block after block until his lungs are screaming and all his breaths are ragged beyond belief.

His time spent at the garage is a short-lived few minutes as he loads her into the truck and swings himself into the driver's seat. He keeps her head on his lap and slams the gas pedal.

The one hand resting over her chest notices a vague thumping under her ribs. There's a pulse.

She still has a pulse. She's alive.

The truck careens around a corner, and then the hospital is within view. A million thoughts race through his mind, a stampede of incoherencies and inconsistencies that make him feel like throwing up. Should he have called an ambulance back at her apartment? Should he have used the skateboard? What if everything he just did only helped to kill her?

There is a pulse, he reminds himself. But another thought crushes any and all comfort: it's out of his power now whether she lives or dies. And he has this deep-rooted feeling that, just maybe, he won't ever be able to save the troubled soul he's fallen in love with.


	15. Chapter 15

**Wow! All of your comments have really made my week, you guys. I can't even start to explain how happy it makes me getting to read your thoughts. I'm afraid this chapter might contradict some of your theories, but I still hope you enjoy it. Sorry about the wait!**

 **Depressing hospital idea (c) Lu**

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The overhead lights are harsh. They loom over her closed eyelids, pressing in closer and closer in the hopes of burning right through to her corneas.

A moan trembles up her throat. When she tries to turn, something connected to her left arm holds taut and a sharp pain bites into her flesh.

The lights are still pressing in, brighter than the surface of the sun. Ash steels herself, not exactly sure what she will see when she opens her eyes. She takes a few rushed breaths.

Then she opens her eyes.

The ceiling is white, but still the lights are brighter. The walls are white, too. And the floor. And the sheets. The only splash of color in the room is an uncomfortable-looking green chair in the corner.

She casts down her eyes to look at her left arm. Sure enough, there's an IV needle embedded there, the fur around it shaved and sanitized. The thin, clear tube connected to it is cool to the touch and leads up to a silent yet formidable looking contraption that houses a swinging bag of colorless liquid. Ah, zero color— it perfectly matches the rest of this room.

The next thing she notices is her aching head. Her brain pulses against her skull as if it's trying to escape. She feels so awful at this point that it wouldn't be surprising if her brains started leaking out of her nose and ears.

Just as she's starting to relax with her surroundings, a machine to her right starts beeping. This sends a spark of annoyance right to her pounding head, and she grits her teeth. Another groan leaves her mouth.

An otter nurse comes to her rescue, slipping into the room and pressing a few buttons on the machine to silence it. Then she turns to Ash and grins widely.

"Ashlynn, you're awake! Good morning," she greets the bemused porcupine.

"Wha… am I at… t- the hospital?" She already knows the answer to her question, but she wastes her breath asking it anyway. That was more of a test to see just how scratchy her voice sounds. Spoiler alert: it's bad.

"Yes, dear," the otter says, her grin faltering. "I imagine you'd like to know what's going on, so I'll go fetch the doctor really quick. I will be back soon."

Ash busies herself playing with a corner of the sheet. Fortunately, the doctor, a middle-aged stag, arrives in less than five minutes. His face is serious and his gaze firm.

"Ashlynn Woods. Good to see you're up," he begins. He glances down, lifting a few papers on his clipboard to find a choice sheet. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I had… lunch. With—" She's cut off by the nurse, who brings a cup of water to her bedside.

"Here, honey. Drink," the otter urges.

Ash obliges, then goes on. "I had lunch with a…um, someone. Then I went home and… I…"

The stag taps his pencil against the clipboard thoughtfully as she trails off. Then he dips his head, bringing another paper to the top of the stack. "A friend brought you here late last night. He found you unconscious in your apartment with acute alcohol poisoning. We've flushed the alcohol out of your system with the help of IV fluids."

She spares a hasty glance toward the needle stuck in her arm, then returns her attention to the doctor.

"I'm afraid since you are underage, Ashlynn, there will be consequences to face later due to your consumption of alcohol… but we can deal with that later," the stag tells her. "And one final thing—"

" _Lemme in_!" The familiar voice leaks into the room through the slightly ajar door, cutting into the doctor's lecture.

It's _him_. All of the tension on her muscles condenses and melts away like water. He appears in the room a moment later, fur disheveled and his clothes equally so. His jacket is nowhere to be seen, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up. His bulky forearms are wrapped in stark white bandages. Ash's heart sings at the mere sight of him.

"Johnny!" she cries.

"Ash!" He rushes forward, easily tearing free from the weasel who had been trying to hold him back. When the doctor spins around to face the nurse, the smaller animal shrugs helplessly.

"I told him family only, but he insisted."

"It's okay," Ash assures them. "He's all I've got."

Johnny chuckles. "That's not true." Even so, he approaches her bedside and lifts a hand to stroke her cheek. "Oh, Ash, darlin'. I thought I lost ya."

She leans forward off the bed and wraps her useable arm around his broad back, burying her face in his thick black fur and breathing in his musky scent.

"You'll never lose me," she murmurs in his ear. "I promise."

Their embrace lasts for close to a minute, and she's vaguely aware of the uncomfortable doctor and nurse shifting in the background. Finally, Ash pulls back and takes in Johnny's bandaged arms.

"What the heck happened to your arms?"

He holds them out in front of him as if only noticing them for the first time. "Oh, ah. I kinda… er… kicked down your door. Then I was carryin' ya, so… I got a lotta wood splinters an' quills in my arms."

"Johnny," she says. A fresh wave of guilt clouds her senses. "I'm sorry… you didn't have to—"

"No," he says. "I didn't have ta. But I _wanted_ ta. An' that's what matters."

"Ahem," the stag says suddenly. The two startle, and Ash removes her paws from where they had been resting lightly on his bandages. The doctor shuffles around his papers again, clears his throat _again_ , then announces softly, "I'm afraid there is one more piece of news I must share with you."

Ash and Johnny glance at each other. Then, slowly, their gazes shift to the doctor.

"Yes?" she asks.

"While we were getting you settled in here, one of my colleagues noticed there was blood on your clothes. He called me in to investigate, and we found that you have miscarried at almost eight weeks," the stag explains. He remains stoic as ever, wearing the expression of someone who is talking casually about the weather.

Something from inside her suddenly punches outward, and she lurches forward, clutching desperately at Johnny. It's like she's drowning in an ocean of chaos, and he's the life preserver keeping her afloat.

One thought screams at the forefront of her mind: _it's over_. There's no longer a… well… anything to worry about. She won't have to share custody with Lance for the rest of her life. She never has to see him again. Just one last call to tell him what happened.

Jesus, now she feels like such an idiot for even telling him yesterday. What was the point? Seeing him again did this to her. Seeing those green eyes staring at that waitress's ass like he'd discovered a chest of gold. Seeing that smirk, twisting the corners of his lips upward. Seeing _him_ , hearing _his_ voice, smelling _his_ cologne, doing everything but tasting and touching him. She used to experience all the senses with him.

Now she does with Johnny.

Slowly, Ash's gaze trails along his magnificent body. This particular shirt is stretched-out and it droops off his chest, exposing some chest fur. She can see his mouth moving, and his silky smooth accent stroking her eardrums somewhere in the distance, but she can't comprehend his words at the moment.

And his scent— his scent is different. He doesn't wear cologne often, but when he does it blends into his natural musky odor flawlessly. He smells like chocolate, rich and sweet and tempting.

She's touching him now, and his fur feels like thick, shaggy velvet bunched up between her fingers. He's soft, and plush, yet muscular. He's like a pillow studded with hard, pure muscle.

And, of course, taste. Ash knows how deeply she's fallen for him when she experiences his kiss. His lips always capture hers, framing hers perfectly and moving in a constant rhythm. She wants to taste him again.

So she does. She leans up, pulls him down to her with her good arm, and closes the gap between them.

When they separate, he's gazing at her in what she hopes is awe, but it is probably made up more of confusion.

"What was that for?" he asks.

"It was for you," she tells him. "For you being you."

The creases in his forehead are deep. "But… Ash… ya had a—"

"I wasn't ready," she whispers. The emotionless doctor and kindhearted nurse must have left at some point during her daze, because the room is empty save for them and the beeping equipment. Ash takes this opportunity to pull him down closer to her, smoothing her quills and receding into her pillow. The bright lights suddenly don't seem so harsh anymore. The white walls closing in now feel more like an embrace than something intimidating.

"Ya," he breathes. His eyes are flitting back and forth, dissecting her face.

"It wasn't the right time in my life, it wasn't… it wasn't my time yet." She nuzzles into his neck again, then presses another quick peck onto his gorgeous lips.

He appears to be at a loss for words. Then he just shakes his head slowly and sighs, "These past few months 'ave been insane."

She frowns. Her forehead crinkles just like his, like tissue paper. "Good insane," she asks, "or bad insane?"

His eyes are wide, round chestnut-colored moons. "I don't know," he answers truthfully.

She agrees.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny is sitting on the edge of a seat in the waiting room when the group arrives. He stands as they enter the hushed room, their faces lined with worry and eyes enormous.

Rosita is the first to speak. "She's okay?"

He nods. "She's fine."

Meena shakily holds up a plastic container. "I baked a few cupcakes for her."

Johnny dips his head gratefully. "Thanks. What kind?"

"Lemon."

A tiny grin forms on his lips. "She'll love them."

The entire group cycles through, everyone visiting Ash individually. Out of everyone, however, Rosita is in there the longest. She's also the last one to go. When she emerges from the room and begins walking back down the hallway to the waiting area, Johnny springs up.

It's late, so everybody has gone back home. It was a long day, and Johnny is about ready to keel over like a dead flower. Through the windows is a black canvas speckled with stars— it's well past nine o'clock at this point.

"Your arms," Rosita says as she stops in front of him.

Johnny lets his bandaged arms swing limply downward, since bending them is impossible. He feels like the doctors started wrapping him up as a mummy, then stopped abruptly after his elbows. It's a fitting comparison, seeing as he has less energy than a corpse.

"Ya, I was carryin' Ash an' her quills really stabbed inta me," he explains.

"You poor things," Rosita whispers. She looks back over her shoulder at the hallway, then blinks up at him with forlorn hazel eyes. "Johnny, I know how much you care about her. You're the most dedicated boyfriend I've ever seen. But you need to get some rest."

"But—"

"She's sleeping right now," the pig goes on. "She won't even notice you're gone. I'm sure she will be out until late tomorrow morning. And _you_ need to sleep in an actual bed, not a hard plastic chair."

"Rosita, I'll manage," he protests. Despite his words, his tone is not nearly as argumentative. A yawn disrupts his catatonic features, and a defeated sigh escapes him.

All it takes is one more sharp look from Rosita to get him to cave. "Aight, fine. Lemme just say g'bye ta her an' then I'll be on my way."

She bids him farewell, and Johnny slips past her down the hallway, turning left into Ash's room. Just as Rosita described, the porcupine is in a deep slumber. Her mouth hangs open slightly, a soft whisper of air greeting his ears as she inhales and exhales. The patterned blue hospital gown she's wearing doesn't quite fit her right, and he can see a few quills poking through the flimsy fabric.

As he steps closer to her bed, the machine next to it continues its ceaseless beeping. The sound gnaws at his skull, but he presses closer anyway.

How, he wonders, is it possible for this girl to look so beautiful even under the harsh, flickering hospital lights? How can she look so gorgeous when wearing a misshapen blue sack for clothing? How in the deepest depths of hell can she look so amazing, even when cloaked in a thick layer of troubles?

Three simple words come to him in this moment, as he leans next to her bed and presses a swift kiss onto her nose. It's not even fathomable for him to say them, though. Not now. Not here. There is a better time for that, and a better place. Also, it would be preferable that she's _awake_ when he says them.

Nevertheless, he keeps the words in mind. He keeps them safe in one of the file cabinets of his mind. One day, it will be time for him to say them.

But today is not that day. Not yet.

When he stands to leave, he notices something. The fur on her face is damp. There's still some wetness gathered under her eyelashes. He glides a gentle thumb over one cheek, and when he inspects his finger, it's wet and salty from her tears.

Probably Rosita had scrounged up some emotion in her. She had gotten her to cry about what happened. He knows that tears aren't always bad. That's what he tells himself as a tear of his own slides down his cheek.

He wipes away the drop, sniffles, then stands up and walks out.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you all for the comments! I hope you're still enjoying this as much as I have fun writing it :) Okay, well, I will admit that I struggled with this one somewhat, but I'm happy with the ending.**

 **Please review and let me know what you think! Thank you :D**

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"I know how to walk, Johnny," Ash grumbles at him a few days later. "Either put me down or risk needing your arms bandaged up again."

He sighs, setting her down softly on the cold linoleum floor. At this point he knows better than to argue. Disagreeing with Ash is like cashing in a one-way ticket to Quillville. "Fine. Sorry," he concedes.

Ash rolls her shoulders and stretches out her legs, taking a deep breath as she leaves the hospital room and walks on down the hallway. Maintaining a bold and fearless stature is tougher than she thought it would be. She still has the plastic hospital wristband on— the kind that, annoyingly, needs scissors to be taken off. There's also the shaved patch still on her forearm where the IV needle had been. She runs her fingers over the spot and feels the sharp bristle of new fur growing back in.

Johnny's plodding footsteps are steadily behind her, and they sound as miserable as his tone of voice. Every other step, there's a crinkling noise from the plastic grocery bag swinging from the crook of his arm. It had been the best thing they could find to hold her extra change of clothes and other minor belongings.

After a rather uncomfortable elevator ride down, the two emerge from the sliding hospital doors to the parking lot.

Having spent almost an entire week inside, being outdoors now is like taking her first breath again. She is lucky enough that the weather is beautiful. The sky is a sharp, pale cobalt color with wispy clouds that swirl into the blue like blotches of white watercolor paint. A line of palm trees in the distance rustle and sway in the wind as if they're dancing to an inaudible song. The early August heat is stifling, but manageable. Besides, as soon as they enter Johnny's truck, the air conditioning doesn't take long to set in with its relaxing, cool breath blowing on their faces.

"So I've been wonderin'… what have, um, you an' Rosita been talkin' 'bout durin' her visits these past few days?"

Johnny's question takes her by surprise. She opens her mouth for a moment, then closes it, then bites her lip and mumbles, "You must know?"

"I would _like_ ta know, yes. But if you're not comfortable tellin' me, then—"

"No, I mean… it's fine," Ash says. "I can tell you. But first, why are you so curious anyway?"

His face is hiding in her outer vision, but still she catches the familiar downward quirk of his mouth. "E'rytime she leaves, your eyes are drippin' like waterfalls. Must've been some emotional talks ya two had."

Ash drags her gaze to the window. She watches the world pass, highlighted by recurrent flares of sunlight. "She… made me cry, yeah." The next set of words curdles in her throat, and she has to shake her head a little in order to go on. "She told me to just… spill everything. To let it all out." A grim chuckle makes her face twist as if she's in hysteria. "To set it all free, y'know?"

He stays silent, wordlessly prompting her to continue.

"So I did. I told her how maybe a baby wouldn't have so bad. Then I told her how I definitely couldn't have been ready. I said that I didn't drink on purpose. God, I didn't…" She clenches her teeth, molars grinding as she leans her head against the cold window. "I didn't mean to hurt it, let alone kill it! I just… I lost it. It was like seeing Lance triggered me into inviting myself to an all-you-can-drink alcohol buffet." A soft sigh whistles through her teeth. "I told her that… I'm still just a stupid teenager, all things considered. I told her how I'm dependent."

"Dependent?" His head snaps to the right, eyes conveying no particular emotion. "On what?"

She blinks at him. "Try 'who.' I'm dependent on you, Johnny. If it weren't for you, I might still be cold and dead on my apartment floor right now."

He flicks his gaze back to the road. "Someone woulda found ya eventually."

"But it wouldn't have been soon enough," she insists. She fastens one firm hand around his well-muscled arm. "Johnny, I want… I want to make this official."

A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Official?"

"Let's move in together." She spreads her arms wide, then winces and lowers them back into her lap. "What do you say?"

It seems like he is about to nod eagerly, but then his head freezes and he just slumps his shoulders. "Ash… I'd love ta, but… whateva happened ta takin' things slow?"

She shrugs. "I dunno. I guess I just thought… I've basically been living with you already. The only difference is I would get rid of the apartment and move all my junk over to your place. Unless… unless you think I'm rushing this, then—"

He inclines his head, eyes still glued to the road. She relaxes when the beginnings of a grin form on his handsome face. "Aight. If ya don't mind cold cement floors an' the faint smell o' gasoline, then ya can move into the garage."

She reaches up to give him a sloppy peck on the cheek. "Thank you," she breathes into his ear. She can see the ripple of nerves trail down the right side of his body, making his fur stand on end. Her heart thuds harder.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny can't explain why he is so nervous about Ash moving in permanently. Every time they're somewhere alone together, while driving stuff over from her place to his or unpacking boxes, the words begin crawling up his throat. He always swallows them back down, his brain reeling, just constantly unsure of what to say.

Naturally, he's excited about this. He _wants_ her to be there, so it's not like she forced him into it. It just feels… weird.

Maybe the weirdest part of all is that she's no longer sleeping in his bed.

It's almost like that movie where a couple broke up but they still remained reluctant roommates— except Johnny and Ash are still together, and they're far from reluctant.

If they want to still go as slow as possible, she told him, then this is for the best. Apparently.

Now she's claimed the tiny spare room down the hall as her primary living space. As Johnny pokes his head into her room early the next week, he finds her kneeling on the floor, elbow-deep in a cardboard box of, as she so kindly labels it, "crap."

Most of her things are already unpacked. Her guitar is propped up in the corner, accompanied by its usual partners: the guitar case, slathered in stickers, and a stack of music sheets.

There's also a relatively neat tower of clothes on the small bed. Her phone sits next to the pile, quietly playing an Aeroshrimp tune. Ash's lips move along to the shouted lyrics as her hands sift through the box. Johnny grins, realizing she either hasn't noticed his presence or is just waiting for him to break the silence first.

"Need any help?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe. He remembers when this room used to be his until recently. The room that is now his used to be his father's before… prison. The other guys usually crashed on the lumpy leather couch downstairs, but Johnny isn't about to subject Ash to _that_ uncomfortable hell. Once he had to sleep on it, and he spent the next two weeks with an awful crick in his neck and a soreness in his back.

"No, I think I'm almost done," she tells him. She rises from the box, shutting the flaps and meeting his stare evenly. "How about we go to the theater and get some more practice in?"

"Sure." He smiles. "I always seem to get my best work done there."

She grabs his hand and squeezes it. "Same."

When they arrive at the Moon Theater, it seems empty. Johnny has to use his key to get them in. They have almost a half hour of peace in their practice room, but then they hear whispering. Two different voices slither along the walls, getting louder with each passing second.

Johnny stops playing the guitar and glances around, confused.

Ash also looks up from the paper she's writing lyrics on. She and Johnny share a brief look, then she goes, "You hear that too, right? I'm not going crazy?"

"Nah, you're perfectly sane," he assures her. "Maybe the theater is haunted?" He climbs to his feet, helping her up as he makes his way to the door and out into the hallway.

"But it's a new building!"

"Still. The land could be haunted," he points out.

Ash wraps her arms around her abdomen, nibbling on her lip as she walks alongside him toward the stage. "Oh, isn't that a nice thought…"

As they inch closer to the stage, the voices become clearer. Just when they begin to recognize who they're hearing, a short gray blur pops out of nowhere and runs head-on into Johnny.

"Oh, fu…" Johnny looks down, sees who it is, and immediately resets his word choice. "Oh fudge, Mr. Moon! Didn't expect ta see ya 'ere."

"Really? You didn't expect to see Moon _here_? At the theater?" Ash asks dryly, arms still crossed.

Buster's unfazed by the collision. His ears are perked and his eyes huge and sparkling like blue pools. "I'm so glad to see you two! Hey, mind helping me out for a moment?"

Before Johnny or Ash can object, Buster is leading them back to a small storage room just behind the stage. They find their boss rummaging around behind a collection of props and speakers. When he finds what he's looking for— a pair of poster board signs— he shoves one into Johnny's hands and the other into Ash's. Then he brings them over to the stage controls.

"Okay, so I'm going to get onto that big crescent moon there, like I always do at the beginning of shows," Buster explains. He's running all around them like a chicken without its head. His excitement leaks out of him like battery acid, giving Johnny a little zap of his own.

By the time Buster is done talking, Johnny is fifty percent sure he knows what's happening, and Ash looks completely baffled. Chuckling in amusement, he pulls her close to his side, minding her quills as he watches Buster hop up onto the crescent moon. There's a few tense, quiet moments, then the perky koala gives him a serious nod.

Johnny gives a little grunt as he pushes the correct lever forward, and Buster sails up into the air. Then the gorilla moves his hand over to a rope, which he gently pulls on. Outside on stage, the curtains draw back with a flourish and a satisfying _whoosh_ sound.

Johnny watches Ash lean backward around a curtain, taking in the scene on stage. It looks deserted of anyone, however, and a stone-cold pit of worry fills his stomach. Whatever Buster is planning, he hopes it works out fine.

He counts to fifteen as instructed, then slowly pulls the lever backward. On stage, the crescent moon rolls down flawlessly, swinging securely on its two ropes. Buster stands on it, still looking a bit stressed.

Johnny lets the moon keep descending until it's just a few feet above the stage. Then he sets the lever in a neutral position and peers back around the curtain along with Ash.

Buster is still standing idly, whistling a little to fill the dead air with some kind of noise. His eyes keep flicking back and forth, back and forth, and then—

Eddie's bright white fur drifts in from the darkness that consumes the rest of the cavernous room. He climbs the steps on the opposite side of the stage, hands shoved in the pockets of his neon orange shorts as he reaches the top step.

"Hey, babe. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find your—" Eddie stops short, his eyes growing a few sizes. Suddenly, every curl of wool on his body seems to be bristling. He gazes at his boyfriend, who's now leaning back against the inner curve of the crescent moon, a sultry smirk on his face. "… jacket…" The final word escapes Eddie's tongue, forgotten and now meaningless in light of this discovery.

Buster sits up, and this movement makes the moon swing back and forth. "Eyes," the koala begins, fixing a softened, solemn stare on the sheep, "like burnt honey. Ears like gray velvet. Wool like wisps of cloud on a perfect summer day. Your smile, Edward, makes my heart trill like a bluebird. Every time you speak, I feel like all is right in the world." Buster's cheesy speech rolls to a temporary halt as he hops down from the moon, leaving it swinging like a pendulum behind him. He steps closer to Eddie, still maintaining that soft, serious expression.

"Buster…" Eddie croaks, stumbling back as the other man moves forward.

"And I know in my heart, I know with every fiber of my being, that my life will always be sunny, always shining, always flawless, as long as you're a part of it. Please, Edward John Noodleman, do me the honor of being my husband."

And, finally, Buster drops down onto one knee, one hand outstretched toward the much taller animal. The auditorium is dead silent for several long seconds, save for the blood pulsing in Johnny's ears. His fingers dig into the red curtain, and he can feel Ash trembling with anticipation next to him.

Ten seconds pass. No. This isn't good enough. Johnny wraps his hand around Ash's paw, then yanks her on stage. They sprint all the way to the couple, and Johnny holds up his sign fearlessly. Ash sees this and mimics him, flashing an awkward smile at Eddie.

Buster is visibly shaking. He shoots the two newcomers a grateful glance while mouthing something along the lines of "I almost forgot the signs!"

Johnny looks down at the one he's holding. It reads "MARRY HIM!" in black block letters. Ash's says "PLEASE" and it's underlined three times.

Then, all at once, the tension rushes out of the room like air out of a popped balloon. Eddie staggers forward and takes Buster's hand in his, helping him up. "Yeah," he says breathlessly, picking Buster up and spinning around while pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I will."

A series of joyful laughs erupts out of all of them, while Johnny and Ash drop their signs and back away to give the newly-engaged pair some space. Then a lightbulb goes off in Johnny's head, and he runs backstage. He searches through the controls until he finds the correct one. With a grin, he presses the button and watches the stage transform.

Countless strings of lights, equal parts white and blue, twinkle above the stage. They look the kind of stars you can only see in a cloudless night sky on a cool summer day far away from the city. Buster and Eddie are still laughing giddily, immersed in a world only the two of them know. Ash is standing in the center of the stage, gazing up at the lights with her jaw on the floor. Johnny can see the blue reflecting in her eyes and bathing her in a way that can only be described as truly beautiful.

He walks back out onto the stage and jogs over to her, scooping her up in his arms. He ignores the prick of quills as he holds her close, his lips meeting hers.


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm sorry about the wait! This was probably the longest space between updates ever, and I apologize. I've been lazy, I've had writer's block. They are my two worst enemies. Forgive me :/**

 **On a brighter note, I'm very happy to see the new favorites, follows, and reviews in that time! Reading your thoughts always warms my heart. Thank you so much! Please keep on commenting to let me know what you think is coming next.**

 **Just some light fluffy stuff this chapter. I imagine ya'll need a break from the angst!**

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When Meena texts in the group chat about their upcoming trip to the mall, Ash is taken aback— mainly because she and Johnny had not been previously informed about this trip to the mall.

Ash and Johnny have been officially living together for a little over one week now, and all has been going well despite their personality differences. While some claim that opposing personalities always clash, Ash and Johnny's contrasting preferences work in perfect harmony. For them, opposites attract. They're like two never-ending parallel lines that occasionally stray their paths to interconnect. Those are the days Ash lets her hands wander up his shirt, and the nights Johnny lets her sleep in his bed.

Friendly? Sure. Manageable for both of them? Of course. Complicated? Hell yeah. And Ash has realized that, at this point, there really is no other method of living for them. It's either complicated, or it's nothing at all. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Ash and Johnny are sitting in the grungy kitchenette, munching on breakfast, when the text arrives. For him, it's a cheery little tune accompanied by a buzz that makes his phone slide a little toward the table's edge. For her, it's a deafening five-second guitar tune that causes Johnny to plunge his fists into his ears.

" _Gah_! What the hell, Ash!" he cries, swatting at her half-heartedly as she retrieves her phone. "What about Meena makes ya think, 'ah, yes, a perfect _BAM-SLAM-NA-NA-NA-RAH_?'" He plays an awful air guitar as he says this, making the smaller animal laugh.

"Don't worry, I have a good guitar riff for you too," Ash chuckles. "C'mon, text me so you can hear it."

Reluctantly, Johnny picks up his device and types out a quick cluster of emojis, then sends it to Ash. Almost immediately, an even louder couple of chords are heard. The noise echoes harshly against the cold metal of the kitchen.

"Jeez, Ash. Sometimes I really wonda if you're tryin' ta kill me."

She reaches up to peck his cheek. "Aw, you've got me all figured out." Sitting back down, she steals another bite of toast and asks, "What's her text say anyway?"

Johnny's thumb slides over the screen, his dark eyes scanning it briefly before a heavy sigh leaves his mouth. "Looks like we're goin' shoppin'."

"Shopping?"

"Yep. We're meetin' her at the mall at 11:30."

Ash buries her face in her hands. "Ugh. God, why must you punish us on a beautiful Saturday like this?"

He rolls his eyes and gives her a gentle pat on the arm. "Ah, I'm sure it won't be that bad…"

When they arrive at the mall fifteen minutes late— Johnny had insisted early, Ash had insisted late, so you can guess who won— Meena is standing in front of the fountain. She waves cheerfully when she spots them.

"Hey, guys! What's up?"

"Tired," Ash yawns as she stomps up to her.

Johnny snorts. "You've only been awake an hour, an' ya fell asleep last night at nine. How could ya possibly be tired when ya slept fer, like, thirteen hours?"

Ash sticks her tongue out at him. "Wow, Johnny, I'm amazed. You can do math!"

Meena giggles, leaning back against the fountain edge. "Aww, did you two fall asleep in each other's arms again? So cute."

There's a fizz of something in Ash's gut when she catches the dusting of scarlet that coats Johnny's cheeks under his fur. The fizz originates from annoyance, or amusement. Or something else.

"Shut up, Meen. Now tell me: what the hell are we doing here so early?"

"Actually, you're late," Meena points out, lifting her phone to display the current time.

Ash circles around her and heaves herself onto the fountain ledge. A refreshing spritz of water tickles her back, and she relaxes her tensed muscles slightly.

"Well, you know what they say… 'the late ones are always the most intelligent,'" she says with a smirk.

Johnny crosses his arms. "I love bein' early. Did ya jus' insult my intelligence?"

"No one ever said that," Meena adds, layering onto his counterargument.

"Einstein said it, I believe," Ash tells them as she swings her legs over the mall's tiled floor. "In 1872 or something."

"Einstein wasn't born yet in 1872," Johnny laughs. "Now c'mon. Where we goin'?"

"To the food court, hopefully."

Meena shoots Ash a look, then pulls a list from her pocket. The paper is crinkled and riddled with ink smudges and eraser marks. It looks like she could've been carrying this around for a while. "We have some _very_ important clothes shopping to do. I would've asked Rosita to help, but she couldn't find a babysitter today." She runs her large foot along the many items on the list. "There's a concert in one week and a wedding in four months. We need performance outfits, Johnny needs a tux, us girls need bridesmaid dresses. And I'll need to buy some stuff from the kitchen appliance store for the cupcakes I'm making for the concert."

"I heard cupcakes," Ash cuts in, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "You've got me reeled in."

"Hold up. Didja say 'bridesmaid dresses?'" Johnny asks. His forehead is crinkled like it always gets when he's confused.

Ash hops down from the fountain ledge. "Don't worry, big guy, you won't have to wear one."

Meena nods, ignoring her remark. "Yep. Buster says he still wants both bridesmaids and groomsmen for the wedding. Didn't you get his e-mail?"

Johnny runs a hand through his hair. There's a tinge of blush creeping out from behind his fur again. "I, ah… I don't check ma e-mail too often."

"Oh, well." Meena grins and looks from one friend to the other. "Let's get started! And let's hope I won't feel too much like a third wheel!"

The trio sets off on their eventful journey through the mall. They comb through three stores and come out fruitless. Eventually, Meena puts an exasperated-looking Johnny on slushy duty, sending him in the direction of Auntie Ant's with a wad of cash in hand.

Meena pulls Ash toward yet another clothes store. Ash just barely catches the bold letters "Wet Seal" overhead before she's dragged in.

"Hey. This place doesn't seem too bad," she comments, nudging aside a few shirts to examine one that's caught her eye. "I was thinking of something edgier for this con—"

She's interrupted by the heavy pressure of Meena's arm linked with hers. It almost feels like a boulder pressing on a twig. Ash winces, having no choice but to allow the elephant to guide her all the way to the back of the store where the dressing rooms are.

Once they're inside a dressing stall, Meena spins to face her friend. During their sprint across the obstacle course of clothes racks, they ran headfirst through a cloud of perfume, and now Ash is coughing hard into the crook of her arm.

"Ash!" Meena hisses.

"Why…"— the porcupine tries to draw a full gulp of air through her lungs— "… did… why did you… do that?"

"There's no way Johnny could track us all the way back here," Meena says.

Ash leans against the wall. "Yeah, sure. All he has to do is follow the perfume trail and the sound of me hacking up a lung."

Meena props herself against the tiny bench, an uncharacteristically stern look gracing her features. "What's up with you and Johnny? You two are acting kinda weird. Is it something I said? Am I like a wedge between you guys?"

All of her anxious questions are met with a sigh from Ash. "No, we're fine. I guess on my end, I'm just a little bit… confused."

"Confused?" Meena tilts her head. "How?"

"Our relationship is skewed in some ways. We take things fast, then take them slow, then go fast again. I guess it's partly my fault. I just… I think I like it that way."

Meena nods encouragingly. "And you're confused because…?"

"I'm confused as to why I like things so… uneven." Ash lifts her shoulders then drops them limply. "It's like a thrill to me. I like coming home and not knowing which bed I'll be sleeping in, or if he's going to kiss my cheek chastely or my neck passionately, and—"

Meena nods swiftly, swooping in to cast a shadow over whatever Ash had been about to say. "I get it. It makes sense," she says politely. "I mean, that is how you are, Ash."

"But does _he_ like it?"

"How could he not? He's taking part in it and being just as mysterious—"

"And open."

"— just as mysterious and open at the same time as you are."

Ash nibbles on her lip, evaluating her friend's expression for any signs of dishonesty. But Meena seems genuine about this. And if Meena is being true, then she must be right.

She and Johnny are meant to be taking uneven steps forward. Maybe it's not such a bad thing.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny returns from Auntie Ant's with three extra-large slushies and a small collection of soft pretzels either balancing on or nestled in his burly arms.

The little kiosk had been mobbed, overrun with young kids screaming for a Cheez Whiz-stuffed pretzel. The line snaked around the corner. Johnny had been patient, knowing what wrath would face him if he returns to Ash without at least a thousand calories' worth of slushified soda in tow.

Ash and Meena are standing outside a Wet Seal store— such a dirty name, Johnny has to suppress an immature giggle at the sight of it— when he finds them. The shortest of the three jumps up to grab one of the drinks from him. The interrogation commences.

"Extra-large?"

"Yes," he affirms.

"Mountain dew flavor?"

"Mhmm."

"That's the electric green kind, by the way. Not the weird brown one that they say tastes the same, because they're _totally_ lying—"

"I got da right one, Ash. Ya can look fer yourself."

The porcupine flicks open the lid with a claw, and sure enough there's the bright yellow-green slush… with a swirl of blue.

"Um, what's this?" she asks, giving it a curious sniff.

Johnny grins as he distributes the pretzels. "Mountain dew wit' a blue raspberry twist. I thought ya might like it."

She takes an experimental sip, which soon turns into a ten-second-long gulp. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows rise higher and higher as the flavor floods her mouth. Johnny's grin widens just watching her.

"Good?" he says when half of the drink is gone.

She nods, almost in a daze. "Yeah… that's some good shit right there. Thanks."

He leans down to plant a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "No problem."

They resume shopping, walking while teasing each other between swallows of the sugary and salty crap that can only be mall food.

Another hour has gone by when they finally reach Tim's Tunes on the second level. Ash freezes in front of the entrance, her feet rooted to the floor.

Meena and Johnny flank her, amusement lighting up their gazes. "Do you want to go in, Ash?" Meena questions her.

Ash's reply is a nod, then she dives into the music store. Unlike all the previous places, which have felt like strange jungles of clothes and glitter (complete with overpowering perfume mist), here Johnny feels more at ease. Various instruments hang from the walls, but the most popular by far of the selection is the electric guitars. Red ones, blue ones, black ones, and white ones all smile down in greeting at the teens as they shuffle by. Johnny is taken right away by the couple of pianos in the front corner.

It's almost like a magnetic attraction, really. His jaw hangs open the slightest bit to display the tips of his canine teeth. His fingers twitch, already feeling the smoothness of the keys as if he were tapping them. A cloud has settled over his brain, and it bares one intention: to get the hell over to those pianos and play.

Casually he strolls over, putting on a nonchalant show for an audience of zero. Ash and Meena are on the other side of the shop, admiring a display of percussion instruments. The cashier, a heavily pierced monitor lizard who looks like he belongs in Hot Topic, is hanging out behind the desk with both eyes trained on his phone. Otherwise, the store is devoid of customers.

Johnny sets down his shopping bags and slides onto the piano bench. The unmarked wood is sleek under his ass, and for a moment it feels like he's sitting on a cloud.

Carefully, the young gorilla lifts up the fallboard. His eyes feast on the polished, pearly white keys hiding underneath. They look so flawless, so perfect, not one corner chipped and not a single spot worn away by time, unlike his piano at the theater. Jeez, these piano keys are just _begging_ to be played, _begging_ to be put to use…

He rests his fingers over them, letting them glide from one end to the other without making a sound. He pulls a shaky breath through his lungs, embeds one canine in his lower lip, and begins making music.

It takes the store worker a few moments to catch on that the piano sounds aren't from the background music playing over the intercom. The lizard startles, throwing his device onto the counter and marching out from behind the desk.

"Hey, buddy, you can't just waltz in here and start messing with—"

"Hey yourself!" Ash interrupts him. She and Meena are now standing next to the piano, watching Johnny's fingers perform their magical duet with the keys. "Let him play. We're professional musicians," she goes on with a pompous tone comparable to Nana Noodleman's personality.

The employee scowls, crossing his tattooed arms. His eyes shift from the girls to the unabashed pianist, his forked tongue flicking out irritably. "Damn. Ya'll are part of that Moon Theater group, aren't you?" he grumbles.

"We're not just a group," Meena pipes up softly. "We're a family."

Johnny smiles at his friends as he continues playing. Behind him, animals are gathering in front of the glass storefront. Hooves, paws, hands, and noses of all types are pressed against the window. Their attention is like a pat on the back to Johnny, who keeps on going.

The murmur of voices fills his ears, blending with the trill of the piano. People fill the shop to capacity. The lizard lets him be, muttering that this attention should be good for business.

When Johnny finishes the song, animals are screaming for an encore. He shakes his head, lowering the fallboard back over the keys and standing to face the crowd. He bends over into a bow, extending a hand to Ash.

She hesitates for a few moments. There's an intrigued muttering from the audience as their laser-like eyes scorch the space between their hands.

Then the porcupine smiles, and slips her paw into his palm. He raises her arm high, giddiness making his knees tremble like jelly.

"That's a preview fer our upcomin' concert at the Moon Theater next week!" Johnny yells to the roaring gathering. "Buy your tickets now!"

Meena glances over at them with a chuckle. "Looks like you two will be back in the tabloids now. I'm betting on you for L.A.'s hottest couple of the year."

Ash gives her a playful shove in the arm. "Whatever. I don't think Buster will mind the publicity."

Johnny knows he won't mind the publicity either. If Ash is there at his side, he'll always embrace it.


	18. Chapter 18

**So I had major writer's block with this chapter. I knew I wanted it to be big and eventful, so hopefully I got that right. Please keep in mind before reading that I am not the best songwriter around XD Poetry has never been my strong suit.**

 **Enjoy! I appreciate each and every favorite, follow, and review.**

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Next week, the theater is drowning in animals. Countless feet trample the formerly flawless red carpet draped over the steps and up into the lobby. Arms and elbows push and shove ruthlessly, aiming at anyone in the crowd who's in their way. The vast majority of the theater's current, and ever mounting, population is dressed in their very best clothes. Sequin gowns glitter under the lobby's lights, hugging tight to the females. Meanwhile, every male in the vicinity has the decency to at least wear a collared shirt; some go the full suit and tie route, but most don't.

Ash can feel the excitement pulsing through her veins, running like an electric current to every inch of her body. Again, she peeks down at the wild swarm down below in the lobby that's leaking out into the sidewalk and street outside. From her vantage point on a well-concealed catwalk, it seems like she can see the entirety of the city just under her feet. They're all there to see her. To see Johnny. To see the theater family.

She's about to go return to her dressing room, when a sudden yell overpowers the constant murmuring of the crowd.

"Is it true? Are Ash and Johnny dating?"

The questions come from a teenage wolf wearing a white t-shirt with Johnny's face on it. Ash cringes at the sight of it.

The animals quiet a little after that, clearly waiting on an answer. Ash ducks out of view and runs back along the catwalk. By the time she's climbed down the ladder and reached the ground, Meena and Mike are almost ready for the first performance.

Ash nudges aside the red curtains on the stage, leaving a tiny sliver of space for her to see through. Eddie and Ms. Crawly, along with a few hired security guards, are trying to contain and organize the crowd as it floods into the auditorium. Tickets are thrown at the iguana and sheep, who either stamp or tear them before hastily shoving them back at the impatient concertgoers.

"Nervous?"

Ash stiffens in order to prevent jumping out of her skin. She whirls around and gives Johnny a harmless slap on the arm.

"You trying to make me piss myself on the big night?"

"Heh, sorry," Johnny chuckles. "Ya just seemed a lil'… worried there fer a second."

She pushes past him and marches back to her dressing room. "Maybe for just a second, but I'm fine, really." She places her hand on the edge of the door and lifts a brow at him. "Now, do you mind? I gotta get dressed before Meena and Mike go on."

He rolls his eyes, stepping back out of the doorway. "Aight. Aight. See ya in a bit, hon." He presses a swift kiss onto her forehead, then moves onward.

Ash slowly makes her way to the mirror. Her dress for the show is hanging on a nearby rack, and she snatches it up. It's dark blue satin, which she can only hope won't succumb to her quills' tearing ability. The dress has just the slightest dusting of glitter, and it can only be seen in certain lighting. That was the most glitter Meena could convince Ash to buy and wear.

The porcupine grudgingly slides into the dress, grunting as she reaches back to zip it up. She examines herself in the mirror, smoothing out any wrinkles in the fabric. The neckline is a little snug, so she tugs at it to loosen its hold on her neck.

"Like a damn set of claws around my neck," she mumbles bitterly. Reaching for the makeup collection, she swipes some mascara onto her lashes, glides shimmery blue eyeshadow over her eyelids, and some dark burgundy lipstick onto her puckered mouth. She finishes applying the lip color with a satisfying smack, and she leans back once more to admire her work.

That's when the knock on her door arrives. It is paired with Johnny's shaky voice: "It's show time."

Ash steps out of her dressing room. "You mean for Meena and Mike, right? Because if we're going on already—"

"Yes, I mean fer them," he assures her. "Sorry, I… shoulda been more clear."

"No worries." She gives his arm a squeeze rather than a slap this time, and together they approach the right side of the stage where the rest of the theater family is gathered, save for Eddie and Ms. Crawly. The former is managing controls and special effects on the opposite side of the stage, while the latter is still letting in latecomers and marking tickets.

"You guys will be amazing!" Rosita squeals as Johnny and Ash walk up. The pig mother is rubbing Meena's back comfortingly. "Remember, honey, you did this last time on your own. Now you have a friend on the stage with you. You've got this."

"I- I know, it's just… all these old stage fright feelings are coming back…" Meena swallows audibly, her pale blue gaze flashing down to her best friends. "Johnny! Ash! I think I might p- pass out… oh god…"

Ash and Rosita direct her to a nearby chair, and the elephant sits down with her head hanging.

"Meen. Listen to me. You've been rehearsing this for two months! You know every single word of it. And if you forget, Mike can help you." Ash jerks her head at the mouse. "Right, Mike?"

"Well, I mean, it's her responsibility to—" Mike starts indignantly, but Rosita is quick to swoop in with a stern " _Michael_!"

Mike crosses his short arms and shakes his head resolutely. "Sure. Of _course_ I'll help."

Finally, the lights begin to dim out in the theater. The audience settles into their seats, an excited murmur rippling over the room once before going silent.

The curtains fly back. A gentle yank on the lever from Eddie yields the large crescent moon with Buster leaning into the inner curve of the prop. He hops down onto the stage with a smile, speaking boldly into the microphone.

"All creatures great and small, I welcome you to the Moon Theater. Tonight we have for you a special show with three different acts. All of them are duets. As you listen, I hope you really hear and appreciate the great volume of talent our performers here possess. Now, without further ado, I present to you our first performance… the elephant and the mouse. Please enjoy."

With a blinding white smile, the koala bows and backs out to stand beside Eddie.

Mike strides out onto the stage first, confident and cocky as always. It takes a little coaxing from Rosita and Ash, but eventually Meena is out there with him, her ears in front of her eyes.

"Hello there," Mike drawls into the microphone, which is as tall as he is and probably heavier. He twirls around the stage smoothly, treating the microphone as a dance partner. "Meena here, and yours truly"— he gestures to himself— "have something special for you tonight. I hope you like it."

He shoots a glance over at Eddie while starting to tap his foot. Meena stands, stiff as a mannequin, but after a moment begins swaying her hips side to side, subtly but just effectively enough to get the audience paying attention.

The sound of jazz music fills the theater. "A-one," Mike mutters into the microphone. "A-one, two, a-one, two, three, four—!

" _Your heart is quiverin'_

" _Your skin starts… shiverin'_

" _Your knees are shakin'_

" _And your hands are quakin'_

" _And you're thinkin' to yourself…_

" _What a lovely ni-ight…!_ "

Meena steps up for her part, and Ash is relieved to see her friend's ears start to recede from her face.

" _Your mind is wanderin'_

" _Your soul is ponderin'_

" _The world keeps revolvin'_

" _While you're still solvin'_

" _This mystery… mystery of lo- o- ove!_ "

The jazzy song goes on, with the pair's voices eventually combining to form a sound slicker than Johnny's hair gel. Mike provides the low notes, while Meena hits all the high tones. It's a perfect mix.

As they spin and slide around the stage, Ash slips her paw into Johnny's hand. When she looks up at him, she finds that he has already been staring at her for who knows how long.

"They're pretty good," she whispers to him.

"Ya." He nods, eyes drifting out to the stage. "They are."

The song ends with Mike standing on Meena's head. The elephant giggles shyly, spreading her arms wide while the mouse strikes a pose and hums a "mmm… _yeah_ " into the microphone. They receive uproarious applause from the sea of animals in red velvet seats below.

Meena stumbles backstage to pats on the back from the theater family. She bends down to let Mike jump off her head, and he gives an annoyed grunt as he lands on the polished wood floor.

"Jeez, that was like a goddamn slip n' slide coming down just now!" He points to Meena, who's skin is shiny with sweat. "Somebody get her a towel or something, would ya?"

Meena shrugs helplessly as a stagehand places a damp towel in her hands. "I guess that's Mike's aggressive way of caring for me."

Johnny and Ash share a laugh with her, but too soon the stage lights darken again, a single spotlight following Buster as he walks out to the center.

"That was a good one, huh, ladies and gentlemen? Our next duet is so sweet, it just might spike your blood sugar! Please give it up for our very own singing sensations… Johnny and Ash!"

The last thing Ash feels before she walks out onto the stage is Rosita's hands giving her shoulders a squeeze. Then she lurches forward right behind Johnny, plastering a chill grin on her face as two spotlights frame her and Johnny in conjoined circles of yellowish light.

She watches him shift the guitar so that it's more comfortable on his lap. He takes her paw and helps her up onto the piano bench. There's a green guitar pick fastened between his thumb and forefinger. He begins strumming, and she sings softly into the microphone perched above the piano keys.

" _I never expected to want you…_

" _I never expected to care_

" _And yet here I am, on my knees_

" _And there you are, with my heart in your hands_

" _And I'm begging please_

" _Don't break me_

" _Don't slow me down_

" _'Cause I'm a rollercoaster, baby_

" _And I need you to stay with me, stay with me now…_ "

She adds in the piano, touching her fingers to the keys faintly as she stares down the intimidating, complicated music sheet in front of her. _It's just like a guitar, only with keys instead of strings…_ she reminds herself.

Johnny's part begins:

" _What if I wake up t'morrow, an' you're gone?_

" _Ya grate my heart, shreddin' and shreddin' it away_

" _Piece by piece, ooh, baby…_

" _What will ya do when there's nothin' left?_

" _What can I give to convince ya_

" _Please, don't break me_

" _Don't slow me down, baby_

" _Stay with me, babe, stay with me please…_ "

And now comes the complicated part. The music picks up, the electric guitar is plugged in, and the piano begs to be played faster. Her fingers rake and tap at the keys as fast as her eyes can read the music, as fast as her lips can form the lyrics at the same speed as his.

" _Yet every time I tell myself to go, somethin' makes me love, love you even more._

" _It's like I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps going, going on. Stay with me, my rollercoaster… stay with me now…_ "

 **oo0oo**

When Johnny lifts his heavy-lidded eyes to steal a glance at her, she's so beautiful. Her brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed and focused on the music sheets. The shorter quills that usually fall in her face are tucked neatly behind her ears, and her tongue is barely sticking out between her teeth in her concentration.

The piano and Ash could perform a duet all on their own. She's flawless with the keys, as if she's been playing them since the second she left the womb.

The stage is almost entirely dark, except for the two ever-glowing circles of light: one on the boy with the girl's guitar, and the other on the girl with the boy's piano.

Every single word of the song feels so right on his lips. They roll up his throat and off his tongue, velvety and smooth. The words contain so much meaning for him— and hopefully for her as well— that he's almost too overcome with emotion to say them. But somehow, he pulls through, and he doesn't just say them— he freaking _sings_ them, with every ounce of air in his lungs. She sings right along with him, beautifully. The electric guitar is loud, but their passion is louder.

" _Every time I want to go, something makes me love you, want you, more and more, baby._

" _I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps going, keeps moving, on and on and on…_

" _And baby— you're the tracks I run on. You're the foundation keepin' me on my feet._

" _Don't slow me down, baby— I'll speed you up and up and up. Baby, I'm your rollercoaster…_ "

At last, the music slows back down again. Johnny focuses on his fingers, making every last chord and every last word count.

" _Baby, I'm your rollercoaster… and we'll keep running, running, 'til our love tires out._ "

As the piano fades away, the mood in the room changes. The level of anticipation spikes, and the audience murmurs. They are waiting for something.

Johnny's eyes flit over to lock with her very blue gaze. The connection between their eyes speaks volumes; the unheard words are something along the lines of " _Should we give them what they want?_ "

Her answer is a silent yes that arrives to his lips rather than his ears, in the form of a kiss that takes his breath away. For several blissful moments, they're breathing the same air in their own little bubble. She's leaning back off the piano bench, and he's hunched forward off the stool in order to reach each other. Somehow, it's the most comfortable position he's ever been. Truthfully, he could be hanging upside down off a bridge and still be okay as long as he was kissing her.

As long as the kiss lasts, the applause is muted in the background. But when they separate, the cheers are suddenly very real and deafening. Johnny almost expects the building to begin shaking and the foundation to start crumbling from the sheer volume of the audience's shouts of glee and their incessantly clapping hooves, paws, and hands; and the noise keeps multiplying with every passing second.

Ash hops down from the piano bench, and he stands from the stool. They hold hands and bow deeply. A few roses land on the stage at their feet. Johnny scoops one up just before they're ushered backstage by Buster.

"Fer you, love," Johnny whispers to her. He hands her the rich red rose and plants a short kiss on her lips. "You were amazin' out there."

"Thanks," she tells him as her eyes sparkle. "But you were better."

When it's Rosita and Gunter's turn to go, the audience is hyped up. As the two pigs dance and twirl on stage to a peppy salsa beat, many animals down below dance up and down the aisles right along with them.

After a few more musical numbers, the concert ends. The heavy red curtains move in front of the bowing theater family, creating a buffer between themselves and the wild yells and shrieks rising up out of the audience.

The performers take a secret route to the lobby, and when they emerge from the doors behind a line of tables, the waves of animals pour in. Autographs are demanded and signed, hugs are given, tears are shed, laughs are shared, words are exchanged, promises are made for another Moon theater concert very soon.

A barrage of reporters approach Johnny and Ash's table. Johnny scribbles his pen over a variety of items. He marks pads of paper, skin, scales, pet rocks, shirt sleeves, and a sock with his name in black ink.

Then, at long last, they hear the awaited question.

"Was the kiss for publicity?" an overexcited red panda inquires.

"No," Ash says immediately.

Johnny can feel the idiotic grin spreading over his lips, but he doesn't care. His cheeks are stretchy like elastic tonight, so he could smile for hours on end. He speaks the four words that he knows she agrees with for now and forever.

"It was for love."


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm sorry. Everything was just getting all happy and back to normal, and here I go again throwing this depressing chapter at you. WARNING: this contains mentions of controversial subject matter. Read at your own discretion.**

 **Please review and let me know what you think! I love to read your thoughts.**

* * *

When Ash wakes up the next morning, the first thing she does is walk down the hall from her room to Johnny's room. She slithers under the covers and nestles into his warm and fluffy side.

Just before she closes her eyes, she glimpses his chest rising and falling softly, each fall accompanied by a gentle snore. The white tank top he's wearing clings to him like a second skin, outlining his perfectly chiseled abs. She begins salivating and has to physically shut her mouth to prevent any drool from leaking out onto the pillow. Then she lets her eyelids slip downward and take her into a dreamland for just a few more hours.

She rouses again two and a half hours later at ten thirty. Golden sunlight smiles in from the window, beckoning her eyes to open. She sits up, stretching, and lightly grazing one paw over her back to rid herself of any quills that had dislodged in her sleep. She gathers any spines stuck in the sheets and hops down from the tall bed, shuffling softly across the carpet and depositing them in the bathroom trash.

It's only when her eyes flick lazily up to the open bathroom window that she notices there is, in fact, no sunlight at all. She stands on her tiptoes to peek out, and sees that it was only a dying streetlight still on from last night aimed at the bedroom window. It is actually raining. Hard.

With a grunt, she heaves the window shut and it nearly closes on her fingers. She jerks them away at the very last second, gritting her teeth and stumbling backward.

"Holy cheez-its," she mutters, giving the heavy window a good scowl as if it'd tried to crush her fingers into a pulpy mess on purpose. Spinning around, Ash leaves the bathroom and heads downstairs.

Unlike most mornings, there is no smell of breakfast cooking. No bread slices browning in the toaster, no syrupy sweet scent of a margarine-drizzled, mile-high stack of pancakes waiting for her at the table. Only the stale scent of two-hour-old coffee remains. When she walks over to the coffeemaker, there's a mug of old magic caffeine juice for her— but it would be an insult to coffee everywhere if she called it edible. Not even plopping a few ice cubes in it and rebranding it as iced coffee could save it.

So she tosses it down the drain.

Where the hell is Johnny? Ash wanders away from the kitchenette and stands in the middle of the garage, squinting at every corner. The tiny living room is empty. The workshop is deserted. She finally notices his truck is gone too, only a small puddle of oil left behind as evidence of it once being parked there.

At last it occurs to her to try calling him. She pulls out her phone and scrolls to his contact, clicking the green call button.

It rings six times, to no avail. All she gets is his cheerful voicemail asking her to leave a message.

"Hey, it's Ash. Call me when you can." She hangs up and crosses her arms, stumped.

Now she is beginning to understand how he felt when she ran off to Iowa.

She also sends him a quick text just as an extra precaution, and then she sits back down at the minuscule two-animal kitchen table and waits. Johnny bought the table when she moved in— before, Vince and his cohorts had always eaten on the go or in front of the TV, so Johnny had mimicked them until recently— and it leaned more toward porcupine-size than gorilla-sized. As a result, his knees always poked up in between him and the table when he sat down. Ash always used to laugh at it, but now she's feeling too unsure to laugh at anything. She's also too worried to eat.

The only thing on the table is a small stack of papers. _Hm. That's weird_ , Ash muses as she reaches for them and flips through. Music sheets, junk mail, coupon pages from Roc's grocery store, and… a tabloid magazine.

On the center of the cover is a couple members of the Kardalmatian family. Typical. Those idiots can't go one hour without appearing prominently on some form of social media or gossip tool, especially since the son divorced that bitchy poodle. (Okay, so maybe Ash pays a _little_ attention to gossip mags. But not a lot!)

On the sidebar, however, sandwiched between two other small celeb pictures, is _her_.

It's an image of her from an autograph-signing session in the theater lobby, frowning in between meetings with fans. Some type of bluish filter has been placed over it to make it look grittier and more depressing than the situation really was.

Underneath the photo, squeezed into the limited space, are the words " _budding rock star Ash: shocking scandal!_ " in all capital letters. She pages past an advertisement and opens to the index page. It urges the reader to turn to page 23 in poppy pink numbers.

There's already a lump clogging her throat as she thumbs past a crap-ton of trashy stories to the one about her. Pages 23 and 24— and 25 after that— are crammed with text and a collection of candid photos of Ash. It looks like they were stolen from an over-obsessive fan's stalker scrapbook or something.

Her eyes drift over the headline at the top of the story, and immediately her jaw hits the table.

" _SHE GOT AN ABORTION? INSIDER TELLS ALL"_

Each picture has its own caption in a pink or yellow bubble, and she quickly scans over those as well.

" _She's only 19!_ "

" _She went missing for a week in July; still unexplained_ "

" _Spotted with rumored ex in café on Aug. 2_ "

" _According to ex Lance Morgan: 'She's always been an alcoholic'_ "

Her stomach is doing somersaults, and not the good kind. She lets the magazine fall back onto the table as disgusted bile rises up her throat. So… Lance spilled everything to a shitty gossip magazine? What a _shock_.

She leans down against the table, and for a few peaceful moments she loses herself in the coolness of the wood, feeling it seep through her thin fur and into her skin. A sigh whispers past her parted lips as she stares at nothing in particular. Then, after a while, she sits back up and shuts the magazine, lifting it up to take one last look at herself on the cover.

A small handwritten note slides out from where it had been hiding between pages. She picks it up and reads:

 _Ash—_

 _I saw this at the convenience store down the street and couldn't help picking it up._

 _I know usually these things are a load of rubbish. I know that, I promise I do. Still, I feel a little disillusioned with you. I'm taking a drive to clear my head. I don't know when I will be back._

\- _Johnny_

A shaky sob seizes her throat, and the letter flutters to the ground like a leaf in autumn. She throws herself back onto the table and lets out her frustration in the form of messy tears.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny sits idly in front of the TV display in Walrus-mart. All around him, screens of different shapes and sizes flash a multitude of colors and pictures. Most of them are muted, except for the TV in front of him. He settles back on the grimy linoleum floor, resting his eyes on the daunting sight before him.

This particular TV is showing a gossip news show, the one that screams "Extra! Extra!" before the start of each episode. The two host animals on screen are talking about none other than Johnny's girl.

"… according to multiple sources, rising rock star who goes by the one-word alias 'Ash' is now facing criticism from animals who used to be her fans." The horse glances over at the white rabbit sitting next to him, and Johnny feels his stomach twist as he recognizes Wendy Hopkins.

Wendy nods grimly and reads off a cue card behind the camera. "That's right, Bob. Ash, who was made famous by the concert performances at Buster Moon's theater, has been circulating a lot in the news lately. First, she revealed her relationship with fellow Moon Theater performer Johnny Alderson. Then there was the fantastic concert just last night at the theater where the two of them sang their new hit 'Rollercoaster.' But now she's harboring a much darker secret than ever before."

Bob the horse nods as he adjusts his corny polka-dotted bowtie. "Last night following the concert, a porcupine named Lance Morgan stepped forward and claimed he is Ash's ex-boyfriend. And he dished some appalling information on the 'Set It All Free' singer. We have the records of what he said here for you on Extra!"

The screen reveals a casual headshot of Lance wearing his customary frown, and next to that a quote with Lance's voice speaking over it through a slightly fuzzy recording.

"Yeah, Ash and I had our troubles in the past. She's… she's always been an alcoholic. I would come home and find her passed out drunk. When we broke up, I was relieved to escape all of that. But then we… we met up at a party in June. Then earlier this month she contacts me again, tells me she's pregnant and it's mine. Then after that, she called me and said that 'there's no longer anything to worry about.' So I'm like, 'what happened?' and she won't tell me. So I'm thinking… 'oh my god, what did she do?'"

The smug photo of Lance disappears, thankfully, revealing Bob and Wendy again. Both look devastated. "So what does this mean?" Wendy asks seriously, her eyes focused firmly on the camera. "What is Ash hiding from us? Sources point to her getting an abortion, but until she publicly speaks out about the matter, we may never know the truth about Los Angeles's newest breakout star." She hangs her head slightly as she exchanges a brief glance with Bob. "She's still so young, Bob. I hope nothing is seriously wrong with her."

"It's a shame, Wendy," the horse rumbles to her in return. "It really is a shame."

Johnny is startled out of his TV trance by a voice just above him. His neck snaps upward, eyes landing on a bashful young alpaca.

"I'm sorry, I just… aren't you Johnny from the Moon Theater—"

She doesn't finish her sentence. Johnny stands up abruptly, mumbling an apology before he pushes past the teen and toward the exit of the store.

All he has in his hand is a single plastic bag. Its contents rattle every time he takes a step.

When he pulls open the door to his truck, he grabs the aspirin bottle out of the bag and swallows a couple pills. Then he sets the vehicle into drive and heads back to the garage.

He walks in and finds Ash face down at the kitchen table. He shakes her shoulder until she looks up at him mournfully.

"I don't…" she rasps. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," he cuts in shortly. His mind wanders to the aspirin again, but he ignores his brain's requests. "I think… I think before we try ta launch a career togetha— if we even can anymore, that is— ya gotta, erm, see a mental health professional. Understand?"

She nods meekly. "Yes."

"I'm insistin' ya do this because I love ya, Ash, an' I don't wanna see ya get hurt anymore."

As long as she is his, he will make sure that Ash won't ever again experience pain like she has in the past. It's all he wants to focus on right now. It's all that matters.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks so, so much for all the new favorites, follows, and reviews! I appreciate it a million times over. If it weren't for all your support, I never could've made it to not just ten, but _twenty_ chapters! Wow! Thanks to all the following people for leaving much-wanted feedback since Chapter 10: LuSilveira, F1ctionGAME, sunnyflight530, TMNTGFKittySidekick01, Smiles1998, GoldenWolfGamer, PotterHead13, Shocker, logangarciaolive, Tristan, heleana1, Whamidoinhere, curryboh, and all the Guests! Please continue telling me your thoughts. I'm not sure how much more of this story is left, but if this makes it to Chapter 30 then just know it was all because of you guys :)**

 **I hope you enjoy this one! Have a great week.**

* * *

"I don't know, are you sure this sounds good? I want to be _genuine_." Ash steps back and clears her throat. "Okay, tell me if this seems real enough—"

"Ash," Buster cuts in as his furry gray head pops in between the doors leading to the theater's lobby. "You're gonna have to come out now. The reporters are preparing to mow us down out here, and…"

He trails off as a desperate yell from Eddie leaks past him into their room. "Hey! You can't— you can't just _use_ me as a prop to break down the doors! Don't you dare pick me up— _augh_ — Buster!"

Buster jerks his head back around, then turns to Ash and Johnny with a fresh wince on his face. "See? They have no mercy. So please tell me you're ready to make your statement?"

Ash knows she isn't completely prepared, but the exasperated and pleading expression on her boss's face is enough to make her cave and lie. "Yeah," she says. "I'm… I'm ready."

 _If "ready" means internally terrified and oh-god-I'm-about-to-pee-my-pants-I'm-so-freaked-out, then yeah, I'm totally ready,_ she adds to herself. Smartly, she doesn't choose to say that out loud.

"Great. Let's go." Buster grabs her hand, and with that she's yanked through the doors and away from Johnny. She didn't even get to take one last nervous glance back at him.

Just as promised, countless reporters are waiting in the lobby, bushy-tailed, wild-eyed, and fur standing on end. Recorders and microphones are shoved up at the temporary stage that's been set up. Ash slowly climbs up the stairs onto the small stage and makes her way to the microphone.

"Ahem," she begins, clearing her throat and leaning forward slightly. "So, I… I know you all have been wanting to hear what I have to say regarding what was published about me a couple of days ago, and…" She pauses, catching Buster waving wildly in her peripheral vision. Eddie is standing winded next to him. The koala mouths something at her that could vaguely be read as " _Hurry up!_ "

She straightens and pulls the microphone closer to her, holding up the crumpled notebook paper she wrote her speech on in her other paw. Nerves are slowly eroding her core. To calm her erratically-beating heart, she pretends the rippling sea of reporters is just a bunch of calm, smiling Johnnys radiating warmth and support. Somehow, that vision works.

"And today, I'm here to share with you the truth, and nothing but the truth," Ash tells the room's excited occupants.

Originally, she had written the speech as an anti-Lance statement, with almost no personal facts. Johnny and Buster had encouraged her to edit it a lot. Now it is less of a put-down to her lying scum of an ex and more of a bulleted list of events that are, well, nothing but the truth.

"The truth is, I was pregnant. It was the child of my ex-boyfriend, Lance Morgan. When I went 'missing' for a week in July, I was visiting my parents in Iowa to escape for a while. When I was spotted with Lance earlier this month, it was because we'd met for lunch so I could tell him the news." She swallows shakily, staring down at the final bullet point on the paper. The trembling in her hand transfers to the flimsy paper, and she has to hold it with her steadier hand to make the last line readable.

 _Subsequently, I suffered alcohol poisoning and was hospitalized. I lost the baby as a result._

The words are somewhere within her, but they can't make the journey up her throat. Her mouth feels parched all of a sudden, tongue like sandpaper. God dammit, this would be loads easier if she could just sing everything. She feels like she's on top of the world when she sings in front of an audience. But making public speeches? Hell no.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buster is gesturing again— or just having weird convulsions, she can't be sure. She quickly turns away from him again and leans so close to the microphone, she's practically kissing it.

"I did _not_ have an abortion," she says firmly. "That is a _lie_. I miscarried."

With that, she steps back and the crowd goes nuts. Reporters lunge at the stage. Claws grip pens, writing furiously, clicking against screens. Everyone in the room is writing down what she just said and making it fact. They're attributing it to her.

It was just a fluke that she miscarried. She did not drink alcohol underage. There was no way she would admit her problem to the entire goddamn city, or state, or hell, country, if anyone else outside of Calatonia was paying attention.

Fuck. Ash backs further away from the barrage of questions, and relaxes as Buster runs up the steps and rests his hands on her upper arms. "Alright, Ash," he mutters into her ear as he guides her back through the doors. "You did the best you could."

The second she's through the doors— Buster has gone back to the stage to answer any questions and usher everyone out— Johnny has his arms around her.

"Ah, jeez, Ash. I'm so sorry ya had ta do that. I know it wasn't fun."

"It's okay. I'm just glad it's over now." She hugs him tightly while flattening her quills as best she can in order for him to fully return the embrace.

After a few minutes, they separate and he plants a quick kiss on her lips. Then he lifts his phone in one hand and wiggles it. "I do 'ave some good news, though. While ya were out there, I got a call, an'… it looks like Starr Records is interested in signin' wit' us!"

"Holy crap! That's awesome, Johnny!" She flies right back into his arms again, and he laughs as she collides with his burly chest.

"Yes, yes, it's great, I know. They wanna meet wit' us tomorrow. I'm assumin' you're free then, right?"

"Of course." She fastens both fists around handfuls of his shirt collar and pulls his mouth down to hers. "I'm always free for you."

 **oo0oo**

By the next day, Johnny's stomach is housing an entire swarm of fluttery butterflies and moths. He almost feels too anxious to eat breakfast, but he manages to choke down a few scoops of cereal anyway.

During the drive to Starr Records headquarters, his hands are so unsteady on the steering wheel that Ash offers to drive in his place. He says no, because then she would need a booster seat. Naturally, she gets pissed off. Perfect. Even so, they are able to make it there without any fender benders nor being the cause of any bad accidents.

He drives the truck into a parking space and they hop out. Ash grabs his arm before they can walk into the building. She whirls him around so their gazes are locked.

"Alright bud, listen up. I don't know what it is about you, but when you're nervous you tend to, um…"

"What?" His forehead crinkles, and he tugs at the tie around his neck.

"You know… you kinda, um, insult others when you're nervous." Ash crosses her arms and scowls up at him. Johnny wonders how an animal who he has several feet on can still be so intimidating. "Like, the whole booster seat joke back there." Her tone is flatter than a plateau. "Amusing."

"Unintentionally, o' course!" he bursts out. "I- I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it. But just try and let me do most of the talking, okay, hon?" Ash pats his arm and gives his fingers a squeeze. "Our career together may depend on it."

Johnny hangs his head, but still forces a grin onto his face anyway. "Sure."

They enter the building, confirm their appointment with Mr. Starr at the receptionist's desk, then go sit down in a small waiting area. It's a swanky place; the waiting room chairs are plush (and quill-proof, which Ash appreciates) and Johnny sinks right into them. They both peruse through a selection of magazines, but in the end Johnny spends most of their time waiting playing with his tie. He so rarely dresses up, it really is a foreign feeling to have the stupid long piece of cloth trailing from his neck. He twirls the end of it, twisting it around his finger until Ash's hand reaches over and gently slaps it away.

After a few eons in the comfortable chairs, the receptionist calls them back and directs them to take an elevator up to the sixth floor.

The elevator is just as fancy as the waiting area. Soothing jazz music rolls out of speakers in the ceiling, and the entire elevator is spotless. The buttons are marked with shiny silver-plated numbers. Johnny feels like he must be in the White House or something.

"Okay," Ash mumbles once they reach the sixth level. "She said two lefts, then it'll be the first door on our right."

"Why does this guy have his office so buried? He's the freakin' top o' the company! What scaredy-cat would hide—" He stops short and shakes his head as if to clear it. "Damn. Sorry. There I go again."

Ash frowns at him. "Let's hope he isn't a cat, and that he didn't just hear us."

They stop in front of the door. Johnny replies quietly, "No… he's not a cat. Definitely not."

"Then what is he?" Ash asks, but before he can answer the door pops open. Her head swivels from him to the door and back. "Did you do that?"

"… nope." He gulps audibly, then gestures at the open doorway. "Go for it, babe. Ya said you'd do all the talkin'."

Silently, the two step inside and are met with an extravagant desk and two more of the same plush chairs in front of it. The swivel chair behind the desk is facing the wide windows in the back of the room.

"Take your seats," a voice commands them. Right after, the chair spins around to reveal a suit-clad kangaroo with a sophisticated Australian accent.

Johnny and Ash immediately obey. Ash clears her throat to speak, but the kangaroo beats her to it.

"If you two…" He eyes them closely. "… teenagers were not previously aware, my name is Joseph Starr. Joseph to my friends, Starr to my enemies, and Mr. Starr to those who wish to kiss my posterior." He then leans back in his chair and folds his hands with a chilling smile on his narrow face. "Now, which name do you two believe I should be called by yourselves?"

"Mr. Starr, of course," Ash answers right away.

"Is that so?" The kangaroo's head snaps over in her direction. "Hmm. It's adorable how the smaller one possesses the audacity to speak to me so casually. Your pores seep confidence, girl." Johnny can feel himself shrinking down as Mr. Starr's narrowed brown eyes land on him. "And you, boy… what is your name?"

Johnny swallows. He bites his tongue, and Ash says, "His name is Johnny, sir."

"Not sir. Never sir," the kangaroo corrects her. "That word makes me feel elderly. Mr. Starr, if you would please." He folds his hands tighter, the entire time keeping his gaze on Johnny. "Now, Johnny, it seems you do not possess the voice to speak for yourself. It is quite odd, isn't it, that a mute wishes to sign with my company and, oh, I don't know, _sing_?"

"He is not mute, Mr. Starr," Ash informs him. Johnny's pupils flick back and forth from her straight posture and squared shoulders to the kangaroo's lazy posture as he falls back against his chair again. "It's just, well, the two of us agreed before coming here that I would do the speaking."

"And why is that?"

"He… he doesn't really do well in demanding situations like this. He gets nervous."

"Demanding?" Mr. Starr chuckles. It's a laugh that sends a shiver racing up Johnny's spine, like the kangaroo is crafting a diabolical plan. "How in the world is this demanding, girl? We are only having a simple chat." He tilts his head when he returns his attention to Johnny. "Talk, boy. I want to hear what you have to say."

Johnny's brain is a useless mass of mush. He feels drunk, with his hazy vision and wily tongue. The words leave his mouth with only the slightest tremor from nerves.

"Mr. Starr— if your name is Joseph, then does that mean ya were Joey the joey when ya were a lad?"

Ash immediately face-palms while mumbling a devastated, "Oh, god…"

Mr. Starr's eyes get even narrower, if that's possible. They're the skinniest brown slits at this point. The kangaroo's lip curls and he slams a fist down on the desk. "Intriguing, boy. Very intriguing indeed." He looks from Ash to Johnny a few times, then his disgusted grimace twists up into, of all things, a vaguely friendly grin. "Thank you for choosing Starr Records. You are now among our ranks. Well, in a moment, you shall be. Gerald! The contracts." He snaps his fingers, and an assistant who Johnny hadn't even noticed hiding in the shadow of a bookcase moves forward. The silent hog produces two contracts and slides them toward Johnny and Ash on the desk, along with two fountain pens.

"Wha— wait, what?" Ash cries, staring at the contracts as if they're something she's never seen before. "Don't you want to hear a demo, or a sample of our song—"

Mr. Starr only nudges the papers closer to them. "I have confidence in your abilities. I have viewed bits and pieces from the Moon theater performances. And, besides, it is essential to have contrast in a pair like yours— in your case, there's the level-headed girl and the bumbling buffoon." A poisonous beam spreads wide over his narrow features. "Now, if you would just sign the line at the bottom of the paper, then you can go on your merry way. More intimate details will be discussed at a later date."

Johnny crosses his arms slowly over his lap, and watches in surprise as Ash picks up her pen. Reluctantly, he reaches for the other pen but suddenly feels a vibration coming from his back pocket. Shit. His phone. He thought he'd completely set it on silent. The other three animals in the room shoot him annoyed glances as he reaches for the buzzing device. The number he sees on the screen is the very last one he expected to see.

"I- I sincerely apologize, but I- I have ta take this," Johnny sputters out. He slips out of the room and immediately presses the green accept button before shoving the phone against his ear.

"Is everythin' okay wit' my dad?" he hisses into the phone. "Is it his health? I know he's allergic ta strawberries, I can bring the spare Epi-pen over—"

The female voice on the other end is unamused. "Is this Johnny Alderson?"

"Yes'm, it's me," he murmurs. "Is my father quite alright?"

"Mr. Alderson, we are calling you because your father Vince Alderson has gotten into a severe fight with another inmate. As a result, his parole hearing has been pushed back."

Johnny covers his face with one hand, and slowly lets it slide down until he's nibbling on his fingernails. "Ah, hell. Is he injured badly?"

"I do not have that information."

He bites harder on his nails. "…okay. Are there any other penalties for him?"

"He and the other inmate have been placed in high-security cells and are not permitted to any visitations in the public room. If you want to visit him, you will have to do so alone and in the presence of armed officers."

Johnny nods even though the lady on the other end can't see it. "Okay. Thank ya for callin' me. I'll be over ta visit as soon as I can. G'bye."

Once he hangs up, Johnny slowly slides down against the wall and leans his forehead against his knees. The tie he's wearing feels too restrictive now, so he rips it off and undoes the top button of his collared shirt.

He hears the door to Mr. Starr's office creak open, and seconds later Ash is at his side. "What the hell, Johnny? We were just about to sign into the biggest milestone of our lives!"

Johnny forlornly lifts his head up to stare at her. She has her arms crossed, all her weight on one leg to give her a defiant appearance. The formal plaited skirt she put on for this silly meeting looks so odd on her compared to the typical red plaid.

With a sigh, he shakes his head and plays with a hangnail. "It was my dad. Or, well, the prison callin' about my dad."

Her brows knit together. "Why? What happened?"

"He got in a fight. A bad one, too, 'parently." He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, but I gotta go see 'im now."

"Right now?" He stands up to go, but she leaps in his path. "Johnny, I'm sorry that happened to your dad, and I'll go visit him with you—"

"Ya can't, single visitors only."

"Okay, well, I'm sorry that happened. I really am." She takes his hands and gently massages the scaly palms with her thumbs. He now curses himself for refusing to use the not-very-manly lotion he'd received from Rosita for his birthday.

"But," Ash goes on. "We're so close to signing with Starr Records and— and having a secure place in the music industry. With Mr. Starr's support, we can launch the career we've been waiting to have for so long. And even better, it'll be us _together_!"

Johnny tries to shift away, but she keeps a firm hold on his arms. "Ash, I dunno, I— ah…" He hesitates, then plows onward. "I just… I want some time ta think, y'know? Maybe this step is too big for where we are right now. It's so sudden, I- I thought we'd have more time ta mull it over!"

"I thought we would too, but we're lucky Mr. Starr has accepted us so quickly." She jabs one finger at the closed office door. The door has a label with a gold border reading "JOSEPH STARR" that Johnny hadn't noticed before. "In there is our future. And with every second we waste out here stalling, that future moves farther away. Soon the opportunity will be totally _gone_ if we don't sign those goddamned papers!"

"I know, Ash. I know." Finally he's able to yank his other arm away from her. "But I don't like this pressure. I don't like how he insulted me." His voice begins to sound more vexed as he continues. "I dunno 'bout you, but personally I'd rather partner wit' a company that actually treats me wit' respect! I don't want us ta be miserable, Ash. Ya realize once we sign those contracts, there's no goin' back?" He begins to move past her. "If Mr. Starr can't give us time ta think, then maybe we should consider other options."

" _What_ other options?" she demands.

"They'll come," he insists. "The concert was just a few days ago. Someone else had to've noticed us then. All I ask, Ash, is that I'm able to go see my last livin' family right now an' decide on this later. Don't ya believe we need time ta think?"

She shakes her head. He can see tears brimming, giving her gaze a shiny sheen.

"I don't need time to think," she whispers softly. "I… I actually… I already signed the contract."

The only accurate word that describes how he feels in this moment is hollow. His stomach is scraped clean of the flutters, his heart is empty of any feeling, and his brain is out of words. He pulls his fingers into fists and, with a grunt, storms into the stairwell.


	21. Chapter 21

**This chapter is not very Jashy, I'm afraid. Lots of conflict blossoms here. It's sad for me to write, but it's needed at this point.**

 **I'm thinking there's only two to three chapters left of this thing. I never wanted it to be longer than 20 chapters, and we've already surpassed that, so what's another final few installments to this rollercoaster of an adventure?**

 **In any case, I hope ya'll enjoy this one. Enjoy your dwindling summer while it lasts. And thank you for the new favorites, follows, and reviews! They are always appreciated.**

* * *

Just like that, Ash's career skyrockets. Mr. Starr had been unnaturally stoic as he dropped Johnny's unsigned contract into the paper shredder. If he was casual enough to shrug carelessly, he would've at that moment.

Then he'd proceeded to show Ash just how tear-proof the contract is.

"Tear-proof paper, straight from my hometown in Australia." He'd leaned in close to her face and, with a taunting smile, tried to rip the paper. All the contract did was bend slightly, but it held strong to the kangaroo's efforts. "You see?" he went on, motioning for his assistant to open the lid of the shredder. The pig had bent down and retrieved Johnny's contract, which looked only a little mangled compared to the pile of paper confetti it had landed on.

"It takes ten times through the shredder to completely break it down. Eleven, if it's cut from a particularly good tree." Mr. Starr jerked his head at the pig. "Put it through again. And again. And again. I want this girl to see it wither away into _dust_!" His voice had reduced to a menacing whisper on the last word, and she shivered, watching as the wrinkled paper was eaten up a second time by the humming teeth of the machine.

Now she's sitting in Buster's office, waiting for the koala to be ready for her. Her former— unbeknownst to him— boss is sorting through some papers and finishing up checking his email, but soon enough he's turned toward her with his furry hands folded neatly.

"What can I do for you, Ash?" he asks with a friendly grin. Ash realizes how much she'll miss having a kindly manager like him.

"Well, Mr. Moon, I'm afraid I've…" _Afraid?_ She shakes her head slightly. _No. You're not afraid. Ashamed? Regretful, maybe? Ugh, this is harder than I thought it would be…_

"Mr. Moon, I've signed with a label," she begins again. "Starr Records, to be exact. That means I'm… I'm no longer going to be part of the theater here."

She watches Buster's chipper grin falter and fade. Nerves are scraping at the pit of her stomach. Maybe a minute passes, then he clears his throat and leans back in his chair, letting it spin a little before he returns his attention to her.

"That's… that's fabulous news. Congratulations." She can tell how difficult it is for him to keep wearing his trademark smile. It gnaws at her heart like acid.

"Thank you," she says softly. "I know this is kind of… sudden… but I really want to move on to the next chapter of my life already. This summer has been very interesting, but it's showed me that it's time for me to move on and get started with my career." Her heart is nearly sawed in half at her next words. "My real career."

"Your real career," Buster repeats dumbly. He seems to be in a trance for a moment, but then his fluffy ears perk up and he nods animatedly. "Yes, yes, of course. I understand, Ash."

She fiddles with a guitar pick she'd pulled out of her pocket. "But… please just know that I'll never forget the time I spent here. Every hour, down to the last second, I've worked here has been remarkable. The Moon theater… i- it opened a gateway of possible career paths for me, and even if it took me forever to choose one, just know it was… because it— it'll be so hard for me to leave."

Buster lowers his head. "I won't say I'm not disappointed that you're leaving, but I know that you can't stick around here in L.A. for forever. I'm… I'm glad you appreciate your theater friends here. That shows me you're a good female true to her word, and with a kind heart. I wish you lots of luck."

"Thanks. And… I won't be leaving right away. It may be a few months, even, before I go on tour. I still have a few more songs to write and compile into an album."

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?" Buster says. The sadness in his tone has been smothered by a sudden burst of mischievousness.

She grins slyly. "… maybe."

The koala swings toward his computer and begins typing madly. "Rosita and Meena will be in charge of food, Gunter will invite guests, Mike will just… be there, hopefully. And Johnny—"

She cuts him off there, feeling a sudden lurch in her stomach that could be either pain from hearing that name or excitement. "What's happening?"

"A going-away party, of course!" Buster reaches over the desk to pat her shoulder. "You deserve it."

As she makes her way back down the stairs and out of the theater, strolling along under the sunny sky, she can't help but wonder if she really does deserve a party. Her thoughts drift to Johnny, and how things are at the prison. That's where she assumed he ran off to an hour ago, at least.

… hopefully.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny blindly slams through the heavy doors of the prison. He's completely out of breath, lungs burning from a lack of oxygen. Every part of him feels like it's on fire: from his fury towards Ash to his frayed nerves over his father's condition. The drive over here was hellish and took way too long. Why did animals always choose to have fender-benders at the worst of times? The traffic jam had snaked along at least ten blocks.

But that was in the past, and all that matters is that he is here now for his dad. Dragging a deep breath through his lungs, Johnny throws himself onto the front desk and stares wildly at the panther through the scraped-up plexiglass.

"Johnny… Alderson, here to see my— my father… Vince Alder…son," he pants.

The cop only twitches one set of whiskers at him. He keys something short into the computer, then nods curtly. "Yup. He's the one who just beat up another dude real bad. Good luck, buddy." He jerks his head at a uniformed rhino standing in front of another set of doors Johnny has never been through before. "He'll take you back."

With a nod, Johnny turns to the rhino and lets the officer lead him behind the doors. He had never paid much mind to them before, but now as he walks past them and sees just what is behind them, he's shocked he never noticed them.

The paint on the doors and walls lining this unfamiliar hallway is chipped and peeling in many places, revealing bits of graffiti-covered concrete underneath. Almost every door is hiding someone vicious. Furious howls and yells, though muffled, leak through the padded doors to slam Johnny's eardrums. A few doors are even shaking in their frames, being pounded at desperately from the other side by the burly fists of a prisoner. Johnny shivers and keeps himself in the center of the corridor as best as he can.

The rhino finally stops at one of the very last doors in the creepy hall. He extracts a set of keys from his belt, and their jingling echoes against the barren walls as he searches for the right key. When he finds it and the door is opened, Johnny takes a deep breath before entering the room.

Unlike the typical movie portrayals of high-security rooms in prisons, this one is not padded, nor is his father bound in one corner with his hands tied. Rather, it's a windowless concrete cell that somehow boasts a dullness worse than Vince's original cell. A single light bulb is mounted on the ceiling, a flimsy string dangling from it.

Along with the one accompanying Johnny, two other police officers flock his dad on either side. Vince is slouched at a small table in a chair that dwarfs him greatly. Johnny takes a seat in the chair opposite him and gulps softly.

"Dad?" he murmurs.

He promised himself he wouldn't wince or anything when he sees his father's face, but nothing could have prepared him for this sight. As Vince lifts his head to greet him with saddened blue eyes— which are missing their spark— Johnny takes notice of the deep purple bruises spotting his face like blobs of paint. On top of that, the larger gorilla's lip is busted and dried blood is still crusted in his fur. Some tears are even leaking from one angry eye. A few teeth are missing. He looks more roughed-up than ever before— a fitting image for a criminal, Johnny realizes with a pang.

Johnny doesn't even want to imagine how awful his father must have looked right after the fight. At least he's been cleaned up and gotten sufficient medical attention, as there is a glisten of ointment on Vince's cuts in the flickering light.

"Aw, bloody hell, Dad… what happened?"

"It was nuthin' really, son. Jus' me an' a mate got in a lil' spat. Nuthin' major, y'see."

Johnny rakes a hand through his already tousled hair. "Nothin' major? Dad, ya— ya look like a Picatso paintin'! Your face is all… all jumbled up. Not ta mention your parole is now bein' pushed back!" He resists the urge to slam his fists on the table. "This isn't good!"

Vince narrows his eyes and leans coldly away from his son. "Aye, boy, what's got ya all in a fuss?"

" _This_ , Dad! This! You bein' in prison, let alone a high-security cell— this is just really icin' on the cake."

"Don't ya ferget the _reason_ I'm in this place," his father growls darkly. "None o' this ain't my fault, boy. Stan wa' the one who started the damn fight." As his voice rises, the cops flanking him tense a little, but don't make any drastic moves yet.

Guilt swarms Johnny's conscience like a cloud of bees. He wishes he could swat it away and zero in on his anger, but immediately his dad's harsh, accusatory tone makes him soften like melted margarine.

"You're right, I'm sorry, Dad. I just— wait, you an' _Stan_ got in a fight?"

Vince crosses his arms over his broad chest. "An' Barry egged it on. The arse."

"Bloody hell," Johnny mumbles again into his hands. "What were ya even fightin' over?"

The other gorilla's eyes roll to the ceiling. "Th' las' scoop o' chili in the caf'teria. A big ol' riot we started, yeah." A ghost of a smile appears on his battered lips, but disappears quickly. "Anyways, I wanna know what's really botherin' ya."

"It's no big deal, Dad."

"Now, don't go bein' all hypocritical on me, son. Nuthin' is no big deal if it involves me boy. So tell me, what's eatin' at ya?" Vince insists.

Johnny sighs for the millionth time, suddenly aware of the other three attentive pairs of ears in the room. Conspicuously, he scoots his chair in closer to his dad and mutters, "My girlfriend and I had a pretty bad disagreement."

Vince's brows furrow in concern. "Yer girlfriend? Y'mean that porcupine lass who visited me a few months 'go?"

"The one an' only," Johnny says. "Y'see, we were plannin' on signin' with a label together, like, launch a career as a duo. Then I got the call about ya, a- and… she went ahead an' signed the contract without consultin' me first."

"Aye," his father grunts. "'s not right."

"No, it's not right at all."

"'S whadja do? Sign anyways?"

Johnny shakes his head glumly. "Nah, I just left and came straight here. I would've just signed, but somethin' about the head guy there didn't sit well with me. I figured we'd have other options, but… she just went ahead an' left me ta eat her dust."

Now Vince looks the angriest he has since Johnny arrived. "That girl ditched ya, Johnny. She wasn't thinkin' fer the two of ya's, she was thinkin' fer 'erself only. If she didn't want ya as extra baggage, then ya need to dump 'er, son. Don't let 'er be yer anchor, because she's already got riddaya."

Johnny grits his teeth. "But I… I think I love her, Dad."

"Don't think wit' yer crotch, boy. Don't think wit' yer heart, neither. Think wit' yer head. It'll tell ya the right thing ta do." Vince jabs a thick finger against Johnny's chest. One of the cops places a hoof on the Taser gun attached to his belt, but relaxes when Vince recedes. "Dump 'er, Johnny. 'S what ya need ta do. 'S fer the best."

During the drive back to the garage, Johnny mulls over his father's words. Maybe, in some twisted way, he is right. Johnny thinks of his sole, weak retaliation.

" _I… I think I love her…_ "

 _Do you?_ a small voice in his head demands. _Are you attracted to her for who she is, or are you attracted to a bright future with her, as slim as that possibility is?_

" _Think with your head,_ " his father had told him. And his mind is expressing doubts. Ah, hell.

Johnny's grip tightens on the steering wheel so much that he can see the whites of his knuckles through the gray skin. "Maybe…" His throat trembles around the words. "… maybe I need ta let her go."

When he arrives home, he finds Ash perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch. She hops up so fast when she sees him that he's surprised she doesn't break the bounds of gravity.

"Johnny," she says immediately. "We need to talk."

"Yeah," he replies. He stands rigid a few feet away from her. "We do."

There's a brief pause, as if she's waiting for him to start. When he remains silent, she lets out an exasperated exhale and goes, "So… I'm sorry for doing that. But I couldn't… I couldn't wait any longer… I was…"

"You were impatient," he finishes for her.

"You could say that, yes," she agrees. "And because I was… impatient, I just went ahead and signed it. I figured you would sign the contract when you came back in. I was—"

"Selfish?" he offers.

She frowns at him, something resembling irritation flaming dark blue in her eyes. "Sure. Selfish," she accepts the word mildly. "And because of that, I didn't think of what you wanted. And I'm sorry for that." Slowly, she pulls in her arms to wrap them around her body like some sort of self-hug in place of one he would've given her, in a much brighter world. "But… there's no going back now."

"That's right. There isn't." He feels the sharp prick of one of his canines embedding in his lower lip nervously. "So now what?" He doesn't really want to leave that answer open to her, but he honestly has no clue what to do with the information she's given him. It is basically a blatant reiteration of what his father said earlier.

Ash looks around the room, focusing on anything but him. "Now… I'm with Starr Records. They shredded your unsigned contract. From here, we… can only move forward. I'll write some more songs and—"

"Woah, woah, hold on. 'We'? Move forward? There is no we from now on." His heart is tearing into two with every step he ventures deeper into the grave of their relationship. The pressure of this moment is crushing down on his shoulders, on his chest, surrounding him like a coffin. He squeezes his eyes shut and now they're both refusing to look at each other. "By moving forward, we need to let go of the past. And I think now what we had is part of the past."

He hears a loud sniffle, and opens one eye to see her eyes dripping and lip trembling. There's only the tiniest prickle of sympathy in his soul for her, but no instincts beg him to even reach out a comforting hand to her.

"So that's really it? We're over?" she asks.

He hangs his head, rubbing his temples. "I'm just… I'm hurt, Ash. Ya went ahead an' started your career without me. I just can't see myself overlookin' that quite yet."

Her eyes snap up, captivating him for a few seconds more. "Yet?" she squeaks hopefully.

"Maybe time is all I need," he mumbles. He feels like a wimp saying it, but it's the honest truth. He can't cut every tie to her, right? "But right now, it's done. Soon enough, you'll be on tour and I'll still be here, waitin' for the right opportunity. I personally don't believe one should jump at the first chance thrown at them."

Her face darkens. Her posture becomes more stiff like his. They stand like two cold, unfeeling mannequins facing each other.

"I… I was tired of sitting around without a label," she whispers. "I'm sorry I did this, Johnny."

"Yeah," he responds. "I'm sorry you did, too."


	22. Chapter 22

**I think the next chapter will be the last. Thank you all for reading. It means more than I can put into words. I could fill a book with my gratitude.**

 **(Also, yes, I've seen "fake snow" AKA bubbles that looks very realistic. Just roll with it, ya'll.)**

* * *

Snow falls gently from the sky in small flakes, swaying in the path of the whistling wind and dodging any burning street lamps.

Ash doesn't notice the snow at first, choosing instead to look at her feet. It's only when a few wet clumps land on her sleeve that she uses most of her already depleted energy to glance up.

The tiny white crystals ride and dance in the breeze. They look so unnatural as they weave between the wide leaves of the palm trees. Her brow furrows, and she holds out a hand until a snowflake lands in it. She peers closer at the miniature piece of an apparent weather phenomenon.

It's already melting quickly, soaking into her fur, but almost immediately Ash realizes that something seems off about this snow. It's almost like… soapy?

She catches a few more flakes, and sure enough, what she originally believed to be snow are only little clusters of bubbles. She almost wants to laugh aloud at her discovery, but quickly she remembers where she is.

Four months ago, she would've been more freaked out being back in L.A. And although her heart is still fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird, she's calm. She's not _happy_ to be back, exactly, but it is definitely nice to be surrounded by the familiarity of the city she'd lived in for a few years.

Just on her way from the airport to the train station— which isn't all that long of a route— she's stopped eight times for autographs. She plasters on a smile and signs any object thrown at her. Anyone who accepts her despite the whole scandal in August will be welcomed into her fan club with open arms.

When she finally disembarks the train at the right station, she is thoroughly drained. She makes it out to the curb and immediately sees Rosita's familiar minivan parked a few yards away. The mother pig waves her arms wildly, and Ash walks quickly over to her.

"Oh, Ash! It's been too long!" Rosita cries as she throws her arms around Ash's back, only to wince and turn to discreetly pluck a couple of quills out of her skin. "Go on and get inside, I'm sure you're exhausted so we'll go straight home. Unless there's somewhere you'd like to stop first?"

Ash pauses as she fastens her fingers on the handle of the minivan's sliding door. Her thoughts drift to a certain garage just ten miles north of here. Then, slowly, she shakes her head and smiles tiredly at her friend. "No thanks, Rosita. I'm fine going straight back to your place." She yanks open the door with a grunt, and is about to throw in her bags when she notices that the van is not empty.

At least ten grinning, chubby faces are there to greet her. "Ash!" Rosita's children squeal excitedly. Like a pink wave, the rowdy group crashes over the porcupine and, similarly to a riptide, pulls her deeper into the chaotic, noisy ocean inside the vehicle.

"Oh, uh— hey, guys!" Ash says from her place under the swarm. The weight on top of her is surprisingly crushing, and she's worried she might puncture a lung if she doesn't escape soon. Luckily, Rosita comes to her rescue.

"Hey, you eleven get off of our guest right now. She needs to be able to breathe if you want to talk to her." Right away, the eleven piglets hop off Ash while the teen catches Rosita's eye in the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry about that, Ash. They are really so thrilled to see you. I can only safely fit twelve bodies in the back of this car, and Norman had to corral the rest back home…"

She goes on talking, but Ash quits listening as she buckles herself in. Eleven pairs of eyes are staring at her in wonder. Ash is mostly used to the feeling of the paparazzi's eyes constantly watching her back, but something about these children is making her feel unsettled. It's probably just her exhaustion. That's all.

When they finally arrive at Rosita's enormous house in the suburbs, the piglets temporarily leave Ash alone to jump out of the car in a messy pink flood. Ash stumbles out after them with her bags, but Rosita takes the heaviest one before she can protest.

"Would you like dinner, honey? Or just a snack or drink? We have diet soda, soy milk, chocolate milk, and water of course. Or maybe—"

"Really, thank you so much, Rosita. But I'm too tired to eat anything right now." Right on cue, Ash's jaws split into a wide yawn. "I think I just want to go to bed for now. Then I'll be, y'know, all refreshed and revived for tomorrow."

A worried frown mars Rosita's pretty features, but it only lingers for a few seconds until they're inside the house. "Okay, well, if you're sure…"

The remaining fourteen piglets come rushing up to Ash before her other foot has even crossed the front door's threshold.

"O-M-G! Ash! What is it like being _famous_?" demands a young female with puckered lips, a pair of heart sunglasses perched on her snout, and a feather boa cascading down her small shoulders.

"Wow, you're pointy!" one of the boys explains as he jabs an experimental hoof at Ash's back.

"I made pumpkin spice cookies for you, Ash!" A third piglet grins as she thrusts a hot plate of golden brown cookies in Ash's face.

Right then, Ash is whisked away up the stairs. "Ash is tired, kids! Let her have some rest and all of you can talk to her tomorrow morning, okay?"

A chorus of disappointed " _Awws_!" follow her statement, along with an admiration-laced "Every _star_ needs her beauty rest," likely from the boa-wearing girl.

"Alright, here's your room," Rosita announces. She opens a door and Ash is greeted by a simple guest room. "Bathroom is just down the hall on the left, you can't miss it. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, this is perfect. Thanks," Ash tells her. The mother pig is about to leave, but then one question occurs to Ash. "Wait. There is one thing I gotta ask."

"Yes?"

"Um… what's with the bubble snow falling everywhere? Is there some new celebration here that I don't know about?"

Rosita chuckles. "It's kind of a… practice run for the big day tomorrow."

Ash props herself up on one elbow. "Should I be concerned? Or scared?"

"No, no. Buster just, well… if he wants snow for his wedding, then he's getting snow for his wedding, I guess." Rosita shrugs helplessly. "Supposedly he had a discussion with the city's mayor, and they made an agreement to have fake snow fall all over L.A. today and tomorrow."

Ash rolls her eyes. "Only Buster would want to make an imprint like that." She grins despite herself and nods at her friend. "Okay, well, good night. And thanks again for letting me stay. I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem. You'll always be welcome here." Rosita's grin softens along with her eyes, and she almost appears hesitant to leave. Instead she just nods back and begins to walk out. "Good night, Ash."

The second the pig has closed the door behind her, Ash collapses onto the bed. All of the stress seems to melt off her muscles. Gravity soon takes effect on her eyes, sliding them shut. The off-white ceiling above her is eaten up by the simple blackness of sleep.

She wakes some hours later, startling abruptly and almost falling off the bed. She sits up and squints at the alarm clock to her right, only to notice it's disconnected. She scrabbles for her phone, which she'd thrown onto the nightstand hours earlier. The screen is at a brightness that singes her retinas, but it informs her the time is just past two in the morning.

With an inaudible sigh, she settles back against the pillows. A small collection of dislodged quills is scattered over the bed. Embarrassment makes her cheeks hot like stove burners, even if no one is around to see the mess. Stiffly she gathers up the striped spines and runs a hand along her back to gather any other loose ones. She opens the door, cringing as it creaks, and then tiptoes down the hall to the only other ajar door.

The bathroom has a dimly glowing nightlight plugged into the wall, and she relies on this light to find the garbage can. She easily snaps the hollow quills in half like uncooked spaghetti noodles before tossing them in the bin.

She then lifts her gaze to the mirror over the sink. She swallows, noting the purplish bags under her eyes that are barely concealed by the thin fur there. Smudged mascara is smeared over her eyes like a mask. She turns on the faucet and splashes handful after handfuls of water on her face until the last of the makeup is washed away. She'll just put on a fresh face in the morning for the wedding.

Ash still spends a while staring at herself in the mirror. It's not like she wants to— it's just something she tends to do when she needs to mull over things for a while.

Nerves are pricking at her belly, and the reason for their presence is unmistakable. She knows that Johnny will be there, and Meena, and Gunter, and Mike, and all the other friends she ditched for this deal with Starr Records. Moving to New Yak City had never exactly been part of her life's itinerary, but then again neither had getting together then breaking up with Johnny. (Especially not the breaking up with Johnny part.)

The cold-blooded kangaroo Mr. Starr had referred Ash to the label company's branch in New Yak mainly because he believed that city would be a better fit for her. According to him, it's the place with more room for up-and-coming stars like her. At their final meeting, Mr. Starr painted alluring pictures in Ash's mind: store windows covered with posters of her album, animals everywhere screaming at the sight of her, and a nice luxury apartment. And so far, he's been mostly right. But still, adjusting to the big move hasn't been easy.

Ash just wishes she felt more relieved about being back in L.A. But the mere thought of seeing her former best friends for the first time in four months is enough to make a torrent of dread overwhelm her.

She grips the edge of the bathroom vanity, gulping down air that feels heavy and tastes like guilt. For a split second, she wishes it was cyanide instead of oxygen. At least that would be an easy way out.

Right after thinking that morbid thought, she internally smacks herself. Dying is not worth relieving herself from the humiliation she'll face tomorrow— or, rather, later today.

It's then she realizes the water is still dribbling out from the faucet ten minutes later. She curses herself for tacking on unnecessary dollars to Norman and Rosita's water bill, then with another mournful sigh she retreats to her room.

 **oo0oo**

Johnny peers into the mirror with his jaw set and eyes narrowed. Even the grime covering the shoddy mirror in the garage's bathroom can't take away from his very upscale look. He glides his fingers along the perfectly-pressed black jacket until they reach his waist. He gives the coattails a neat little tug so they rest snug against his frame. Then he brings his hands up to tie the bow tie at his neck. It takes three tries to get it just right, but when he's finally happy with his appearance he takes a step back and cracks a smile. His canines glint in the flickering bulb's light. The sheen of hair gel slicking back the black tufts on his head gleams. His face is flawless as well, all stray or odd hairs shaved away. Not a single speck is to be found on his pure white dress shirt or black slacks. He hopes to keep it that way, considering this tuxedo is one he rented from the place downtown.

He has never been to a wedding before, much less one on Christmas Day, so he doesn't exactly know what to expect. But when his truck pulls up to the venue, he gets a warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is a happy occasion. There's no need to be nervous, right?

Right.

When he makes it to the roof of the place, he finds rows of foldable chairs set up with a beautiful altar at the front. His heart warms even more at the sight of his friends gathered around someone near the refreshments table.

As he nears them, a weird realization comes upon him. Johnny reduces the speed of his steps until it feels like he's walking in slow motion. His jaw, heavy like cement, drops and his eyes quadruple to the size of frying pans.

He becomes ultra-aware of Buster's signature fake snow still, inexplicably, falling around him. There must be some higher building the bits of suds are being projected off of, he muses. He tries to think of anything else, to steer himself away from the friends he had been not-so-rapidly approaching, but they've already seen him.

It's too late.

"Johnny! C'mere!" Gunter calls happily. The tux he is wearing this time is not made completely of gold glitter. Just a light dusting of glitter covers him.

Reluctantly, Johnny comes over to the group. The animals part to reveal none other than _her_.

Her dress is absolutely gorgeous— that's the first thought that hits him. The rest of his observations continue hitting him, slamming into his face like bricks, bruising and bloodying him to no end. The pain of just looking at her is almost unbearable.

Her eyes like blue orbs accentuated with purple eyeshadow.

The uncharacteristic frills of her gown, which looks made for her despite the girlishness of it.

The fake snow collecting in between her quills and landing on the pale brown fur of her face. He remembers how soft that fur is.

The pained frown on her face that matches his. Then the uncomfortable smile that replaces the frown which doesn't match him.

"Hey," Ash says lightly. "How have you been?"

The lump in his throat is pricking him teasingly like a blade. "Fine," he replies just as breezily. "You?"

She inclines her head and doesn't meet his gaze any longer. "Fine."

When the wedding processional starts, Johnny is still trapped in some type of hellish daze. Now he regrets saying yes to being one of the groomsmen. He regrets all of them saying yes to being part of the ceremony. Right now he wants nothing more than to hide in the back like the coward he is around her.

Buster and Eddie are all smiles from their places up front. The sheep is wearing the typical black tux, while his groom has a white tux on that matches the creamy color of Eddie's wool. They look so in love, Johnny hates and adores them at the same time. Envy begs him to despise the idea of anyone else getting to be deep in love. But morality demands for such selfish thoughts to be pushed away, and Johnny sides with the little angel on his shoulder rather than the devil. He always has.

And he has a feeling he might be one of the few animals left who does.

When he takes Meena's arm and leads her up the aisle, he keeps his smile on. He's afraid it might look a bit too forced, and judging by his partner's bewildered expression when she glances at him, it is. He keeps it nonetheless, knowing it is the best he can do with Ash in the vicinity.

After him and Meena, Rosita and Gunter walk the aisle. Mike and Ash are last, matching best in size to each other rather than to any of the others. The males stand on Eddie's side, while the females are on Buster's.

The wedding marches on, but Johnny is too distracted to listen to any heartfelt words or vows. He doesn't understand it. Ash dropped all of them, the theater family, _him_ , like they were scalding hot lava slipping between her fingers. And now she chooses to show her face again? He hates it, but he knows he can't deny it—

He had been wishing she wouldn't come.

Yet here she is.

And he can't bring himself to fully hate her. Even so, he knows a lot more time will be needed in order for complete forgiveness. And if she approaches him, then those are the exact words he will tell her. Probably.

"… then by the power vested in me by the state of Calatonia, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss your spouse," the officiant says right as Johnny conveniently tunes back in.

Eddie picks up Buster, which earns them an amused laugh that ripples over the audience, and the two males kiss heartily under the smiling Calatonia sun. The fake snow continues falling around them, settling between tufts of fur and curls of wool. Eddie's large family and Buster's sparse family stand in unison and let out cheers of glee. Nana Noodleman stands up from her chair and claps her hands with a glowing smile on her face. If Johnny isn't mistaken, he thinks there might even be a single tear darkening the fur on her cheek. But that can't be right.

The formal ceremony smoothly transitions to the reception, which is on the other end of the roof. A glass of champagne is shoved into Johnny's hand, and none of the adults there seem to care that he is underage. One simple explanation— "I'll be twenty-one in two months anyways"— is enough for anyone who asks.

Hours pass like days, and Johnny doesn't see her again until the sky is a navy canvas stretching above them with stars like pinpoints of light. Strings of lanterns line the sides of the building, keeping the party well-lit and festive. Outfits so painstakingly styled hours ago are now all askew. In the distance, Buster is perched on Eddie's shoulders, bowtie undone, as he belts out another verse of some karaoke song.

He finds Ash sitting in a corner, her short dress riding up one leg and one hand pressed against the bare stone. They're at the front of the building, and she is leaning dangerously far over the edge to watch the cars below. Headlights and taillights, yellow and red alike, amble along the miniature roadways stories below them.

Johnny approaches her carefully, not wanting to startle her into a gruesome fall. He waits until she finally sits back, and quickly her eyes find him.

"Oh. Hey," she mumbles.

He loosens his bowtie so it's not as tight around his neck. Then he sits next to her, letting his legs swing over the edge. It's such a freeing feeling— like being on a swing going over the empty space that follows a cliff. Or like— like riding a rollercoaster without the safety bar down. His shoulders droop.

 _Every time I want to go, something makes me love you, want you, more and more, baby._

"Look," he sighs. "I… I'm not proud of anythin' that happened this past summer."

"Neither am I," she agrees.

 _I'm on a rollercoaster that keeps going, on and on and on…_

He tilts his head thoughtfully. Neither of them look at the other yet. "I… don't want things between us ta end so badly. I don't want ya to get on that plane back ta New Yak with regrets weighin' ya down, Ash."

Christ, saying her name is like dragging a knife up his throat and along his tongue. It's a bitter sting.

"Even if I'm… not proud of what happened when we were together, that doesn't… that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the times we had. Well, most of them, at least." He swallows. "I… I want ya to know that I still care for ya a lot, Ash. An' I think at this point, caring for ya means that… I have ta let ya go." A shaky grin is drawn onto his lips, and at last he turns his head down to look at her beautiful face. "I have ta set it all free."

 _Baby,_ _you're the tracks I run on. You're the foundation keepin' me on my feet._

"Thank you," she whispers. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Johnny. I care for you too. A hell of a lot." She gives his hand a brief squeeze, but her fingers dart away swiftly. "I don't regret being with you. I only regret what I did to you. But I hope you find someone who makes you truly happy… a- and I… I wish you an amazing life. Because you helped me so much, y'know. I'm in therapy now, and… maybe one day I'll be half the animal you are." She wipes her nose, and he resists the urge to rub her arm comfortingly.

 _Don't slow me down, baby— I'll speed you up and up and up. Baby, I'm your rollercoaster…_

He moves to get up, swinging one leg around so he's straddling the dangerous platform. Her half-empty glass— just full of seltzer, thankfully— tilts in her trembling grip.

"Oh, an'… you can have 'Rollercoaster' for your album," he says.

"Really? Are… are you sure?"

"Really. I want ya to have it. Consider it my Christmas gift to ya." He beams kindly at her. "You'll meet success sooner than me. I'm still waitin' for my time."

"You'll find it," she tells him. "You deserve it more than me."

He shrugs one shoulder humbly. "Thanks, Ash. An' if ya ever want ta call me…" He meets her eyes one last time. "I'm here."

Her eyes are watery and very blue, and her smile is still brilliantly white. "Thank you, Johnny. So much."

He shifts his weight, starting to bring up his other leg so it's safely on the other side. But as he brings his one arm around, it hits an abandoned champagne glass. The empty object flies off the ledge, overtaken by gravity as it soars downward and lands on the sidewalk below with a startling shattering sound. Luckily it does not break on anyone's head.

Johnny leans forward with a wince, watching the glass during its entire five-second journey to the ground. Ash giggles nervously in response, and then he tries again to get off the ledge. His palm lands in a puddle of something wet— spilled champagne. Now he knows why that glass was empty.

His hand slips in the spilled drink, and his elbow crashes hard onto the cold surface. Both his legs fly up, and his fingers lose their grip on the overhang. A gasp from Ash pierces his ears, but then he can't hear anything anymore, no words of shock or cries of horror. He doesn't hear the scrape of what used to be a pristine tux jacket's fabric against the slippery ledge.

He hears nothing on the outside of him. There's just one continuous beat inside his head, pounding at his brain and skull, shaking him to the core. It's their song.

Rollercoaster, rollercoaster, rollercoaster.

Falling, falling, falling. Falling like that empty champagne glass. Falling like the big drop in a rollercoaster. Falling without the safety bar down. Falling free.

He thinks all of this even before he's falling. He feels desperate grabs at his arm, small paws scrabbling against him, seizing fistfuls of every last reachable strand of fur. She's trying to save him, just like how he saved her.

But not everyone is meant to be saved. He imagines his world, and every mention of him, going from present tense to past tense.

"He's well."

"He's not well."

"He's _fine_."

"He was fine."

"He was."

"He—"

… _and we'll keep running 'til our love tires out._

And that's—

 _'til our love…_

—that's what they'll say—

 _our love…_

They'll say— "That's when he fell."

 _our_

 _love_

 _tires_

 _out._

 **oo0oo**

The snow keeps falling, fake but ever so true.

The squid tanks are a blue blur in front of him. It reminds him of her eyes.

The theater is beautiful even when it's a blur.


	23. Chapter 23

The door of the café opens, and a bell rings cheerfully over the porcupine's head as she enters. She glances around with an air of interest, blue eyes flicking from one table to the next as she searches for an empty booth or chair. The warmth and delicious food smells in the café surround her like a comforting blanket, and she can't help but smile because of this. It's been a long time since she's felt so… at home. L.A. is certainly a busy city, and she has always loved that aspect of it, but it really is like a different world entirely when she steps into a tiny café like this one.

The porcupine has a wizened look about her, though the years have done little to erode her spunk and vibrant personality. She still attracts several pairs of eyes to her just walking into the room. While that attention is definitely still for her looks, it is also for her fame. She might as well be carrying a big sign reading, "Check me out, I'm famous!" Despite her popularity, however, she tries to remain low-key even if her recognizable face reveals a very not low-key lifestyle.

She begins weaving among the animals occupying the eatery, some surfing on laptops and others engrossed in conversations with a companion. As she passes the front counter, she takes in rows of pastries dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with chocolate syrup. Hmm, she'll have to visit this particular place more often.

A fox is following right behind her. He is dressed in a black business suit, and the sleek look is completed with a pair of shades and an earpiece that he occasionally mutters into behind a cupped palm.

"Miss Woods, I must remind you of your meeting with the label in twenty minutes…" the fox says, leaning down to talk in her ear.

She scoffs. "The label can wait. I haven't been to L.A. in ages. And for the last time, just call me Ash."

The fox frowns in confusion. "We were just in L.A. last month, Mi— Ash."

Ash shrugs one shoulder carelessly. "Y'know what I mean, Nick. I haven't been to this part of L.A. in forever. I just wanna enjoy a quick bite to eat in this café, then we can go to the dumb meeting. Okay?"

Nick sighs, retreating away from her ear. "Alright."

Finally, Ash finds an empty table in a back corner. A few eyes are still lingering on her, but most of the animals have returned to their respective devices or friends. The majority of the population in L.A. is either immune or used to celebrity sightings, anyway.

She and Nick slide into the booth across from each other, him immediately going to his phone to scroll through a long-ass list of appointments and obligations for the day. Ash begins to zone out after a while, stirring her coffee idly with a spoon while watching the street outside. A couple of teenage girls come over to her and shyly ask for an autograph, which Ash scribbles lazily on the corner of a cocktail napkin. Then she returns to staring out the window.

After a short while, something catches her eye. The side street outside is fairly empty save for the occasional car or bicycle, but a very familiar-looking face careens around a corner and continues rushing down the sidewalk across the street. In his arms, he's balancing a haphazardly-stacked pile of papers, several of which are flying off the top and fluttering to the ground. He barely notices, however.

Ash leans closer to the window until her nose is practically pressed against the cool glass. She wants to get a better look at the male, but he has already moved on past the café. She notices one of the papers get carried across the street by the wind and land on the sidewalk outside. As Nick continues blabbing on about meetings and other fun stuff, she sits up in the booth and squints at the paper.

It's a poster for an event— a show, to be exact. And the address listed is so familiar she cannot deny it.

551 Echo Drive.

The freakin' Moon Theater.

She springs up out of her seat, flinging a hundred-dollar bill on the table and ditching her agent to race out the door and down the side street.

The koala is a few blocks ahead by now, but she catches up fairly quickly. She takes a chance and speaks a name that hasn't rolled off her tongue in years.

"Hey, Moon!"

He freezes, a final cluster of papers sliding off the stack in his arms as he spins around. Sure enough, there is her former boss Buster Moon, just as chipper as she recalls. He jogs back a few paces to meet her at a corner, panting heavily.

"Oh my… _god_! Ash, it— it's… you!"

"The one and only," she replies with a half-grin. "How, uh, how've you been?"

He shifts the papers higher so that they are nearly covering his face. The gold wedding band on his left ring finger glints in the bright L.A. sun. "I've been fantastic. And clearly you've been great as well, with all the success, song and album releases and— well, I shouldn't put words into your mouth. Really, how have you been, Ash?"

She smirks. She really has missed his rambling, and now it's like a comfortingly familiar tune to her ears. "I've been… fine, truthfully. A little bit… tired, I guess. But who isn't tired these days?" She offers an awkward laugh that is highly reminiscent of her nineteen-year-old self, so she cuts it off abruptly.

"No, keep laughing. I always did like your laugh," Buster insists. Then he jerks his head in the direction he'd been running. "I was just heading back to the copier store because they printed these in orange instead of yellow, like I asked, so I really have to run, but… well, I don't know if you read any of the posters, but…"

Ash easily catches on to what he is implying. "Oh, yes, I did notice one or two"— she discreetly casts a glance back at the paper-laden trail the koala has left all down the sidewalk behind them— "and I would absolutely love to catch your show tomorrow night. It's really awesome you're still running the theater."

"Of course I am! What else is there for me and Eddie to do?" Buster asks with a chuckle. "And it would be amazing if you could come, Ash. It really would. I know how busy you are and all, but… I would so appreciate it. And there will be some old familiar faces there, too, so that'll be fun."

Her giggle tapers off into a frown. "Oh? Like… _which_ familiar faces?"

"I really gotta run, Ash!" Buster says suddenly. "So I'll see you tomorrow, I presume?"

"Uh, yeah. Tomorrow night—"

"Seven sharp."

"Seven sharp," she repeats obediently. Then he's gone down the street again.

Just as he turns a corner out of her sight, Nick catches up to her. "Miss Woods!" the fox sputters. "You cannot just run off like that, what if paparazzi had caught—"

Ash brushes him off. "Aw, gimme a break, Nicky. You know I'm mostly old news for now, 'til the new single comes out."

"Right," Nick breathes. "Just… please be more careful. This city is unpredictable."

She tilts her head thoughtfully. "Can't argue with that."

 **oo0oo**

"That was a fantastic performance, Johnny. I would love to have you here again sometime," the red panda gushes as he offers his hand to Johnny, who takes it with a firm shake.

"Thank ya, Bruce. I'd just as much love ta come back in the future," Johnny replies with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah. Catch you later, big guy!" Bruce reaches up to give Johnny a final friendly slap on the back before returning to the stage.

Johnny finishes packing up his things, folding up his keyboard and gently placing his guitar back in its case. He then gives the bar owner one last wave before he exits into the star-speckled night.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through it briefly. His schedule is completely clear, except for just one event tonight. The show at Moon Theater. Buster has been calling him just about every other day for the past two months to remind him about it. Johnny knew since he first heard about it that he wouldn't miss it for the world.

Twenty minutes later, he's standing in front of the theater. It remains just as impressive as always, with the squid tanks glowing a cerulean blue and the façade perfectly kept-up and free of any dirt or cracks. He enters the lobby, making his way politely through the thick crowd so he can place his instruments in a small storage closet as he usually does. Then he pays for his ticket and slips into the auditorium.

It's been years, and he still forgets to breathe for a moment every time he sees the stage. A small smile graces his lips, and he finds his seat without any trouble.

"Hey, Meen," he greets his old friend while settling into the plush red velvet.

"Oh, Johnny!" Meena squeals. She leans over to envelop him in a soft hug. "How are you? How was your gig tonight?"

He flips through the show's program just to do something with his hands. "It went well. He wants me ta come back an' play again soon," he tells her. "An' you? I imagine things must be pretty interestin' with ya."

She rolls her eyes. "I… I guess you could say that. You know, of course, the album is _finally_ getting released in two days. And Andrew and I will be flying out to Wiscatsin to visit his family."

"Are ya nervous?"

"Nervous? Me? Are you joking?" The elephant erupts in a fit of giggles. "Of _course_ I'm nervous, dummy! My fiancé doesn't exactly have the kindest mother, or so he's told me."

"It'll be fine. They'll take one look at ya two an' see how much in love ya are, an' there'll be no way they could reject ya."

"I guess… I'm just surprised he's still stuck with me. You'd have thought my family has already suffocated him enough," Meena says. "I know they don't mean to be overwhelming, but they just… _are_."

Johnny nods, amusement twinkling in his gaze. In the past years, Meena has probably been his closest friend, and even if they don't see each other every day anymore, they still talk a lot on the phone. Her career took off around five years ago, and he was the first animal she told when she signed with a label. He was the first one to hear the initial and final drafts of her hits "Should've Been Us," "Nobody Love," and "Hollow." Her career went on pause when Johnny introduced her to Andrew, a glasses-wearing rhino with a knack for button-downs. She split her time between songwriting and dating him, and the same night she finished the last song for her album "Unbreakable Smile," Andrew proposed. Johnny was, naturally, the first one she told.

When Johnny brings himself out of his thoughts, he finds the empty seat on the other side of Meena filled. Actually, the entire rest of the row has been filled with Rosita, Norman, and twenty-five moody preteens. Oh, and Gunter.

Rosita and Meena are hugging and chatting excitedly, while Norman offers a stiff wave. Gunter is talking animatedly with one of the not-so-little piglets at the other end of the row, his accented voice filling the entire room with enthusiasm (and piggy power).

Rosita never ended up signing with a label, instead choosing to stay near home to raise her children. While she did put her career on hold for a while, she returned to singing once her oldest kids were fifteen. Buster helped promote her at the theater, then she started landing gigs left and right around southern Calatonia. Gunter, meanwhile, returned to Germany for a while to be with his boyfriend, and the two of them eventually eloped. He then became a professional dancer famous worldwide for his moves and his, well, piggy power.

Johnny leans forward, and finds yet another couple of familiar faces in the seat in front of him. "Hey, Mike," he says. "Hey, Nancy. How are the kids doin'?"

The mouse cranes his neck to look up at Johnny with a big yawn. "They're good, they're good. Just as exhausting as always."

Johnny laughs, falling back and watching animals mill around as the last of the theater's seats are filled. It seems the only unoccupied seat now is the one to his left.

The last few guests slide into their assigned rows, and the lights begin to dim. Then the doors open, and the sound of running feet echoes around the quieting room. Johnny twists around, and forgets how to breathe all over again.

By the time she is sitting in the seat next to him, he is still in shock. The last time he saw her, it was years ago, watching her terrified face recede from him as he fell through the open air. At the last second, she moved away from the edge and he never saw her again since.

It takes him a second to realize that she, too, is staring at him. She is the first to speak.

"Holy… shit. J- Johnny?"

He hasn't been able to listen to her songs on the radio without breaking into tears.

"You're… you're okay?"

She reached platinum, and he stuck close to home. His career, or waiting for his dad to be out of prison. He made his choice.

"I… I don't understand. How can— how are… how…"

Her eyes are still blue like the squid tanks outside. The fur on her face is still soft as ever, or so he'd like to imagine. He cannot get over the perplexed expression she's wearing.

"I… I ran away. I thought— I thought—"

The awning caught him. The theater's sweeping awning extended like a hand to catch him. His body bounced against the fabric like a deadweight. His spine curled. His fingernails dug into his palms until they bled. He fell, but he never finished falling.

"I'm so, so sorry. I feel awful."

He's still falling, in every tense imaginable. In his past, in his present, in his future, he was, he is, he will always be falling.

Her voice contains so much raw emotion, so heartbreakingly genuine. She cares. He needs time, but he thinks he will care too. Seeing her again is like enriching his oxygen, making every breath better than the last.

He thinks back to the first time he laid eyes on her— when his world was simpler, when his world was so boring. He thinks back to when she walked into the theater, armed with a guitar and a defiant look on that exceptional face of hers. He thinks back to that very first second she entered the room with those blue eyes wandering and exploring. That, Johnny thinks, is when he fell for her.

"Seven years…" she chokes out.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay! All this time you've been here, and I didn't even look over my shoulder… I… I'm a horrible—"

"It's okay," he says. He slides his hand under her chin and lifts her head to lock gazes. "I mean it."

One day, he will land. Today is not that day.

* * *

 **Thank you all a million times over for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. I will never forget all the time I put into this story. I know this ending definitely seems rushed, but I just need to move on. I have new projects to work on, and I'm not as into this fandom nor this pairing anymore. There will likely be a few more small fics from me for this fandom, but no more big stories. I greatly appreciate each and every one of you reading this, and I hope you all have an amazing rest of your year. Adios!**


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